front. 


When  weary  reapers  quit  the  sultry  field, 

And,  erownVl  with  corn,  their  thanks  to  Ceres  yield. 


THE 

POETICAL    WORKS 

OP 

ALEXANDER  POPE. 

EDITED  BY  THE  REV.  H.  F.  GAILY,  M.A. 
U  j^tto  ^tjition  carefulln  IReblseto. 


TO  WHICH  U   PREFIXED, 

A    BIOGEAPHICAL    NOTICE. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY   JOHN    GILBERT. 


NEW  YORK: 
D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  846  &  348  BROADWAY, 

AND  18  LITTLE  BRITAIN,  LONDON. 
M  DCCC  LV. 


V 


CONTENTS. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICE ix 

AUTHOR'S  PREFACE 1 

A  DISCOURSE  ON  PASTORAL  POETRY  .     ;     .     .    .  7 
PASTORALS : 

SPRING,  OB  DAMON 12 

SUMMER,  OB  ALEXIS 15 

AUTUMN,  OB  HYLAS  AND  .£GON 18 

WINTEB,  OB  DAPHNE 20 

MESSIAH,  A  SACBED  ECLOGUE 23 

WINDSOR  FOREST 27 

ODE  ON  ST.  CECILIA'S  DAY 37 

TWO  CHORUSES  TO  THE  TRAGEDY  OF  BRUTUS  .  41 

ODE  ON  SOLITUDE 43 

THE  DYING  CHRISTIAN  TO  HIS  SOUL 44 

ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM 45 

THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK 63 

ELEGY 83 

PROLOGUE  TO  THE  TRAGEDY  OF  CATO   ....  85 

EPILOGUE  TO  THE  TRAGEDY  OF  JANE  SHORE     .  86 

SAPPHO  TO  PHAON,  TBANSLATED  FBOM  OVID     ...  87 

ELOISA  TO  ABKLARD 93 

TRANSLATIONS  AND  IMITATIONS: 

THE  TEMPLE  OF  FAME 103 

JABUABT  AND  MAY jj7 

1* 


VI  CONTENTS. 

TRANSLATIONS  AND  IMITATIONS— continued.  *AGI 

THE  WIFE  OF  BATH 136 

STATIUS'S  THEBAIS,  THE  FIRST  BOOK 146 

THE  FABLE  OF  DHYOPE    . 167 

VEBTUMNUS  AND  POMONA 170 

IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS : 

SPENSEB,— THE  ALLEY 173 

WALLER, — ON  A  LADY  SINGING 175 

OK  A  FAN  OF  THE  AUTHOR'S  DESIGN  .     .     175 

COWLEY, — THE  GARDEN 176 

WEEPING 177 

EARL  OF  EOCHESTER,— ON  SILENCE 177 

EARL  OF  DORSET, — ARTEMISIA       . 179 

PHRYNE 180 

DR.  SWIFT, — HAPPY  LIFE  OF  A  COUNTRY  PARSON      .     180 
MISCELLANIES: 

EPISTLE  TO  ROBERT  EARL  OF  OXFORD 182 

JAMES  CRAGGS,  ESQ. 183 

MB.  JERVAS 184 

MRS.  BLOUNT 186 

THE  SAME 188 

THE  BASSET-TABLE,  AN  ECLOGUE 189 

VERBATIM  FROM  BOILEAU        193 

ANSWER  TO  A  QUESTION  OF  MRS.  How 193 

ON  SOME  VERSES  OF  THE  DUKE  OF  BUCKINGHAM     .    193 
PROLOGUE  TO  A  PLAY  FOR  MB.  DENNIS'S  BENEFIT    .    194 
MACEH,  A  CHARACTER    ......  194 

To  MR.  JOHN  MOORE    ...:.„..  .195 

SONG,  BY  A  PERSON  OF  QUALITY igg 

ON  A  CERTAIN  LADY  AT  COURT 197 

ON  HIS  GROTTO  AT  TWICKENHAM 198 

To  MR.  GAY [    *,  "    j    1QQ 

To  MRS.  M.  B.  ON  HER  BIRTH-DAY 199 

To  MB.  THOMAS  SOUTHERN 


CONTENDS.  Vii 

MISCELLANIES— vidi.nud.  yAGs 

ROXAXA,    OB    THE    DRAWING-ROOM.       As    ECLOGUE    .      .  200 

To  LADY  M.  W.  MONTAGU 201 

EXTEMPORANEOUS    LlKES    OH     THE    PICTURE     OP   LADT 

M.  W.  MONTAGU,  BY  KSELLEB 202 

THE  LOOKING-GLASS 203 

FAREWELL  TO  LONDON •  203 

LINKS   SUNO    BT  DURASTANTI   on    TAKING    LEAVE    Of 

THE  ENGLISH  STAGE 205 

UPON  THE  Duu  OF  MABLBOBOUOH'B  HOUSE  AT  WOOD- 
STOCK      205 

VJBRBES 206 

THE  CHALLENGE,  A  COURT  BALLAD 20(3 

THE  THREE  GENTLE  SHEPHERDS 208 

VERSES  TO  DB.  BOLTON 208 

EPITAPHS: 

ON  CHARLES  EARL  or  DORSET 20!) 

SIR  WILLIAM  TRUMBAL 210 

HON.  SIMON  HARCOURT 210 

JAMES  CBAGGS,  ESQ. 211 

MR.  ROWB 211 

MRS.  CORBET 211 

HON.    R.    DlOBY   AND    HIS    SlSTEB     ....*.  212 

SIR  GODFREY  KNELLEB 212 

GENERAL  H.  WITHERS 213 

MR.  ELIJAH  FENTON 213 

MR.  GAY • 213 

SIR  ISAAC  NEWTON 214 

DR.  F.  ATTERBUBY 214 

EDMUND  DUKE  OF  BUCKINGHAM 213 

FOB  ONE   WHO   WOULD    NOT   BE   BUBIED   ur  WEST- 
MINSTER ABBEY 2l5 

OK  HIMSELF    ...  .213 


•rift  CONTENTS. 

MOB 

AN  ESSAY  ON  'MAN 216 

THE  UNIVERSAL  PRAYER 249 

MORAL  ESSAYS: 

ON  THE  CHARACTERS  OF  MEN 251 

ON  THE  CHARACTERS  OF  WOMEN 258 

OF  THE  USE  OF  RICHES 265 

THE  SAME  SUBJECT 279 

EPISTLE  TO  MR.  ADDISON 285 

DR.    ARBUTHNOT.  —  PROLOGUE    TO 

THE  SATIRES 287 

IMITATIONS  OF  HORACE: 

SATIRE*  I.— BOOK  II.— To  MR.  FOBTEBCUB     ...  299 

II.— BOOK  II.— To  MR.  BETHEL     ....  803 

EPISTLE  I. — BOOK  I. — To  LORD  BOLINGBROKE  .     .  808 

VI.— BOOK  I.— To  MR.  MURRAY     ....  312 

I. — BOOK  II. — To  AUGUSTUS 310 

II.— BOOK  II.— To  COLONEL ....  327 

VII.— BOOK  1 335 

SATIRE  VI.— BOOK  II 337 

ODB  TO  VENUS.— BOOK  IV.  1 342 

A  FRAGMENT.— BOOK  IV.  9 343 

SATIRE^  OF  DR.  JOHN  DONNE  VERSIFIED    ...  344 

EPILOGUE  TO  THE  SATIRES 354 

LINES  ADDRESSED  TO  LADY  FRANCES  SHIRLEY.  366 

TO  ELKANAH  SETTLE   ...  367 

FRAGMENT  OF  A  POEM       368 

PROLEGOMENA    AND     ILLUSTRATIONS     TO    THE 

DUNCIAD    .     .    c 372 

THE  DUNCIAD 409 

APPENDIX  TO  THE  DUNCIAD    .                                  .  465 


ALEXANDER  POPE. 


ALEXANDER,  the  only  child  of  Alexander  Pope,  "by 
Editha,  daughter  of  William  Turner,  Esquire,  of  York,  was 
born  in  ^Lom bard-street,  Londou,  on  the  twenty-first  of 
May,  1688.  His  father,  having  amassed  a  fortune  of  about 
twenty  thousand  pounds  by  hia  business  as  a  linen-draper, 
retired  to  Binfield,  in  Windsor  Forest ;  and  being  a  Roman 
Catholic,  and  therefore,  as  it  is  said,  unwilling  to  trust  the 
government  with  hia  money,  spent  the  greater  part  of  it 
before  his  death. 

At  the  age  of  eight,  Pope  was  placed  under  the  care  of  a 
priest,  in  Hampshire,  and  instructed  at  once  in  the  rudi- 
ments of  Greek  and  Latin :  from  thence  he  was  removed  to 
a  school  at  Twyford,  near  Winchester ;  and  afterwards  to 
one  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Hyde  Park  Corner. 

Being  a  weak  and  sickly  child,  he  passed  most  of  his 
time  in  reading,  and  in  making  verses,  a  propensity  in 
which  he  was  encouraged  by  his  father.  Ogilby's  "  Homer" 
and  Sandys's  "  Ovid"  were  amongst  his  favourite  books. 
Of  his  earliest  attempts  at  verse,  the  K  Ode  on  Solitude" 
only  remains.  He  had  the  good  sense  to  destroy  the 
rest. 

Spence  tella  us  that  Waller,  Spenser,  and  Dryden  were 
Pope's  great  favourites,  in  the  order  they  are  named,  in  his 
first  reading,  and  till  he  was  about  twelve  years  old.  He 


X  ALEXANDER   POPE. 

says  himself,  that  he  learned  versification  from  Dryden. 
In  his  youthful  poem  of  "  Alcander,"  he  imitated  every 
poet— -Cowley,  Milton,  Spenser,  Statius,  Virgil,  Homer. 
In  a  few  years  he  had  dipped  into  a  great  number  of  the 
English,  French,  Italian,  Latin,  and  Greek  poets.  "  This  I 
did,"  he  says, "  without  any  design  except  to  amuse  myself; 
and  got  the  languages  by  hunting  after  the  stories  in  the 
several  poets.  I  read — rather  than  read  the  books — to 
get  the  languages.  I  followed  everywhere  as  my  fancy  led 
me,  and  was  like  a  boy  gathering  flowers  in  the  woods  and 
fields,  just  as  they  fell  in  his  way.  These  five  or  six  years 
I  looked  upon  as  the  happiest  in  my  life." 

When  near  London,  he  went  to  the  playhouses' ;  and,  in 
imitation  of  what  he  saw  there,  formed  a  drama  out  of  the 
"  Iliad,"  to  be  represented  by  his  schoolfellows.  At  Will's 
Coffee-House  he  had  a  sight  of  Dryden,  a  yet  greater 
curiosity  to  him  than  the  actors. 

At  sixteen  he  wrote  his  "Pastorals,"  which  were  not 
printed  till  1709,  when  they  appeared  in  a  poetical  Mis- 
cellany. In  that  year  his  "  Essay  on  Criticism"  was  com- 
posed ;  and  two  years  after,  the  "  Eape  of  the  Lock,"  which 
was  also  published  in  a  miscellany,  and  at  first  consisted 
of  only  three  hundred  and  fifty  lines ;  but  being  afterwards 
embellished  with  the  machinery,  was  extended  to  more 
than  double  the  length.  The  fancy  and  elegance  of  this 
work  placed  him  at  the  head  of  all  his  poetical  com- 
petitors. 

In  1713  he  completed  "Windsor  Forest,"  which  had 
been  begun  at  the  age  of  sixteen ;  and,  relying  on  the  high 
reputation  he  had  obtained,  put  forth  proposals  for  a  sub- 
scription to  an  English  version  of  the  "  Iliad."  His  imita- 
tions of  Chaucer,  and  translations  from  the  Latin,  poets, 


ALEXANDER   POPE.  XI 

had  already  prepared  him  for  this  task;  yet  his  spirits 
were  so  much  weighed  down  at  the  prospect  of  it,  that  he 
complained  of  his  rest  being  broken  by  painful  dreams, 
and  wished  somebody  would  hang  him.  In  rather  more 
than  five  years  the  formidable  work  was  completed,  and 
met  with  a  success  hitherto  unexampled  in  this  country, 
having  brought  him  a  profit  somewhat  exceeding  five 
thousand  pounds. 

His  next  engagement  was  an  edition  of  Shakspere ;  but 
he  had  no  skill  in  verbal  criticism,  and  failed  accordingly. 
The  part  in  which  he  acquitted  himself  best  was  the 
Preface. 

He  now  undertook  a  translation  of  the  "  Odyssey."  For 
this  he  called  in  the  assistance  of  Broome  and  Fenton ;  the 
former  of  whom  contributed  eight,  and  the  latter  four 
books.  After  finishing  it  hi  1725,  and  reaping  a  second 
harvest  of  gain  from  Homer,  he  resolved  thenceforward  to 
desist  from  the  labour  of  translating.  But  a  habit  begun 
so  early,  and  continued  so  long,  was  not  entirely  to  be  laid 
aside.  The  "  Imitations"  he  published  from  time  to  time 
of  the  Epistles  and  Satires  of  Horace  and  of  Donne,  are 
copies  not  much  less  faithful  to  their  originals,  than  his 
version  of  the  two  great  epic  poems  of  antiquity.  All  his 
other  works,  derived  from  his  own  invention,  were  now 
confined  to  moral  or  satirical  subjects ;  the  "Essay  on  Man," 
the  "  Satires  and  Epistles,"  and  the  "  Dunciad."  The  last 
of  these,  consisting  of  three  books,  was  published  in  1728. 
About  two  years  before  his  death  he  added  a  fourth,  after 
having  remodelled  the  whole,  and  injudiciously  substituted 
the  lively  Gibber  for  the  laborious  Theobald  as  the  hero. 
In  1740  he  amused  himself  by  editing  a  selection  of  Latiu 
poems,  by  Italian  writers,  in  two  volumes. 


Xli  ALEXANDER   POPE. 

The  history  of  Pope's  Works  is  nearly  that  of  his  life. 
When  he  had  collected  the  subscriptions  and  other  profits 
accruing  from  his  Homer,  he  prevailed  on  his  father  to 
dispose  of  his  estate  at  Binfield,  and  purchase  a  house  at 
Twickenham,  to  which  he  removed  with  his  parents.  Here, 
with  the  exception  of  occasional  visits  to  London,  Oxford, 
Bath,  and  the  houses  of  his  friends,  he  continued  to  reside 
for  the  remainder  of  his  days.  Ill  health  always  prevented 
him  from  travelling  to  other  countries,  for  which  the  desire 
never  left  him.  Some  of  his  leisure  hours  at  home  were 
diverted  by  the  care  of  ornamenting  his  house  and  gardens, 
and  forming  a  grotto  under  the  highway  that  intersected 
his  grounds. 

In  November,  1717,  his  father  died,  at  the  age  of  seventy- 
five.  In  1733  he  lost  his  mother,  at  the  age  of  ninety- 
three,  whom,  in  her  declining  years,  he  had  nursed  with  the 
most  assiduous  tenderness.  After  her  death,  his  affections 
centred  in  Martha  Blount,  with  whom,  and  her  sister  Teresa, 
his  acquaintance  had  commenced  in  infancy ;  this  friend- 
ship continued  throughout  his  life.  His  attachment  to 
another  female,  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu,  terminated 
most  unpleasantly;  in  rejection  and  scorn  on  one  side, 
and  in  anger  and  revenge  on  the  other.  The  part  of 
Pope's  character  which  we  contemplate  with  most  pain, 
is  his  sensitiveness  to  injury,  either  real  or  imagined;  yet 
it  is  to  this  disposition  that  our  language  is  indebted  for 
the  finest  models  of  a  keen  and  polished  satire.  As  he  was 
violent  in  his  animosities,  so  he  was  ardent  and  sincere  in 
his  affections.  The  friends  in  whose  conversation  he  most 
delighted,  were,  Gay,  Swift,  Parnell,  Jervas  the  painter, 
Arbuthnot,  Atterbury,  Harley,  and  St.  John.  He  was 
early  introduced  to  the  notice  of  the  great,  and  continued 


ALEXANDER   POPE.  Xlll 

to  mix  in  their  society,  without  any  compromise  of  integrity 
or  independence :  with  many  of  those  yet  more  eminent 
for  wit  or  literature,  he  was  united  by  the  closer  bond  of 
sympathy  and  mutual  endearment.  No  English  poet  has 
ever  risen  from  so  humble  a  beginning,  to  so  great  personal 
distinction. 

He  died  on  the  thirtieth  of  May,  1744,  after  suffering 
much  from  his  complaints,  yet  with  so  little  pain  at  last, 
that  those  about  him  could  not  distinguish  the  time  at 
which  he  expired.  On  receiving  the  last  sacraments  from 
the  priest,  he  said,  "  There  is  nothing  that  is  meritorious 
but  virtue  and  friendship,  and  indeed  friendship  itself  is 
only  a  part  of  virtue." 

He  appears  to  have  been  at  no  time  free  from  some 
species  of  bodily  weakness  or  malady,  of  which  a  head-ache 
was  the  constant  symptom.  In  person  he  was  diminutive 
and  deformed  :  when  a  child,  he  had  a  pleasing  and  even 
beautiful  countenance:  in  more  advanced  life  the  best 
feature  was  his  eye,  the  lustre  of  which  was  remarkable. 
His  bust,  by  Roubilliac,  exhibits  an  extremely  eager  and 
sarcastic  expression  in  the  lips,  strongly  indicative  of  his 
character. 

It  may  afford  subject  for  reflection,  that  by  a  diligent 
cultivation  ot  one  natural  talent,  seldom  much  esteemed  so 
long  as  the  possessor  of  it  is  living,  a  puny  misshapen  and 
sickly  being,  unfit  for  any  active  employment  of  life,  and 
rarely  quitting  the  roof  of  his  parents,  became  a  stay  to 
those  parents  in  their  old  age,  the  restorer  of  their  fortunes, 
the  pride  of  their  house;  courted  by  the  powerful  and 
wealthy;  the  dread  of  his  enemies;  and  one  of  the  chief 
ornaments  of  his  age  and  country. 

It  is  well  said,  that  Pope  saw  nature  only  dreswcd 
2 


Xiv  ALEXANDER   POPE. 

by  art ;  he  judged  of  beauty  by  fashion ;  he  sought  fo? 
truth  in  the  opinions  of  the  world ;  he  judged  of  the  feel- 
ings of  others  by  his  own.  The  capacious  soul  of  Shak- 
spere  had  an  intuitive  and  mighty  sympathy  with  whatever 
could  enter  into  the  heart  of  man  in  all  possible  circum- 
stances. Pope  had  an  exact  knowledge  of  all  that  he 
himself  loved  or  hated,  wished  or  wanted.  Milton  has 
winged  his  daring  flight  from  heaven  to  earth,  through 
Chaos  and  old  Night.  Pope's  muse  never  wandered  with 
safety,  but  from  his  library  to  his  grotto,  or  from  his  grotto 
into  his  library  back  again.  His  mind  dwelt  with  greater 
pleasure  on  his  own  garden  than  on  the  garden  of  Eden; 
he  could  describe  the  faultless  whole-length  mirror  that 
reflected  his  own  person,  better  than  the  smooth  surface  of 
the  lake  that  reflects  the  face  of  heaven — a  piece  of  cut- 
glass  or  a  pair  of  paste  buckles  with  more  brilliance  and 
efiect  than  a  thousand  dew-drops  glittering  in  the  sun.  He 
would  be  more  delighted  with  a  patent  lamp  than  with 
"  the  pale  reflex  of  Cynthia's  brow,"  that  fills  the  skies  with 
its  soft  silent  lustre,  that  trembles  through  the  cottage 
window,  and  cheers  the  watchful  mariner  on  the  lonely 
wave.  In  short,  he  was  the  poet  of  personality  and  of 
polished  life.  That  which  was  the  nearest  to  him,  was 
the  greatest ;  the  fashion  of  the  day  bore  sway  in  his  mind 
over  the  immutable  laws  of  nature. 

He  lived  in  the  smiles  of  fortune,  and  basked  in  the 
favour  of  the  great.  In  his  smooth  and  polished  verse,  we 
meet  with  no  prodigies  of  nature,  but  with  miracles  of  wit ; 
the  thunders  of  his  pen  are  whispered  flatteries ;  its  forked 
lightnings,  pointed  sarcasm ;  for  "  the  gnarled  oak,"  he  gives 
us  "  the  soft  myrtle ;"  for  rocks,  and  seas,  and  mountains, 
—-artificial  grass-plots,  gravel-walks,  and  trickling  rills; 


ALEXANDER   POPE. 


„,: 


for  earthquakes  and  tempests, — the  breaking  of  a 

pot,  or  the  fall  of  a  china-jar ;  for  the  tug  and  war  of  the 

elements,  or  the  deadly  strife  of  the  passions,  we  have 

"  Calm  contemplation  and  poetic  ease." 

Yet  within  this  retired  and  narrow  circle,  how  much — 
and  that  how  exquisite — was  contained !  What  discrimina- 
tion, what  wit,  what  delicacy,  what  fancy,  what  lurking 
spleen,  what  elegance  ot  thought,  what  pampered  refine- 
ment of  sentiment !  It  is  like  looking  at  the  world  through 
a  microscope,  where  everything  assumes  a  new  character 
and  a  new  consequence, — where  things  are  seen  in  their 
minutest  circumstances  and  slightest  shades  of  difference ; 
where  the  little  becomes  gigantic,  the  deformed  beautiful, 
and  the  beautiful  deformed.  The  wrong  end  of  the 
magnifier  is,  to  be  sure,  held  to  everything,  but  still  the 
exhibition  is  highly  curious,  and  we  know  not  whether  to 
be  most  pleased  or  surprised. 

The  "  Rape  of  the  Lock"  is  the  most  exquisite  specimen 
of  filigree  work  ever  invented.  It  is  admirable  in  pro- 
portion as  it  is  made  of  nothing.  It  is  all  gauze  and  silver 
spangles:  the  most  glittering  appearance  is* given  to  every- 
thing,— to  paste,  pomatum,  billets-doux  and  patches.  Airs, 
languid  airs,  breathe  around;  the  atmosphere  is  perfumed 
with  affectation.  A  toilet  is  described  with  the  solemnity 
of  an  altar  raised  to  the  goddess  of  vanity ;  and  the  history 
of  a  silver  bodkin  is  given  with  all  the  pomp  of  heraldry. 
No  pains  are  spared,no  profusion  of  ornament,  no  splendour 
of  poetic  diction,  to  set  off  the  meanest  things.  The  balance 
between  the  concealed  irony  and  the  assumed  gravity  is 
as  nicely  trimmed  as  the  balance  of  power  in  Europe.  You 
hardly  know  whether  to  laugh  or  to  weep.  It  is  the 


I  f#. 

xyi  ALEX  AN  DEB   POPE. 

triumph  of  insignificance,  the  apotheosis  of  foppery  and 
folly.  It  is  the  perfection  of  the  mock-heroic  ! 

Abelard  and  Eloisa  is  fine  as  a  poem ;  it  is  finer  as  a  piece 
of  high-wrought  eloquence.  No  woman  could  be  supposed 
to  write  a  better  love-letter  in  verse.  The  tears  shed  are 
drops  gushing  from  the  heart;  the  words  are  burning 
sighs  breathed  from  the  soul  of  love. 

Hazlitt  agrees  with  Johnson,  that  the  "  Essay  on  Man," 
though  a  work  of  great  labour  and  long  consideration,  was 
not  the  happiest  of  Pope's  performances. 


THE  AUTHOR'S  PREFACE. 


I  AM  inclined  to  think  that  both  the  writers  of  books,  and 
the  readers  of  them,  are  generally  not  a  little  unreasonable 
in  their  expectations.  The  first  seem  to  fancy  the  world 
must  approve  whatever  they  produce,  and  the  latter  to 
imagine  that  authors  are  obliged  to  please  them  at  any 
rate.  Methinks,  as,  on  the  one  hand,  no  single  man  is  born 
with  a  right  of  controlling  the  opinions  of  all  the  rest ;  so, 
on  the  other,  the  world  has  no  title  to  demand,  that  the 
whole  care  and  time  of  any  particular  person  should  be 
sacrificed  to  its  entertainment.  Therefore  I  cannot  but 
believe  that  writers  and  readers  are  under  equal  obligations 
for  as  much  fame,  or  pleasure,  as  each  affords  the  other. 

Every  one  acknowledges,  it  would  be  a  wild  notion  to 
expect  perfection  in  any  work  of  man :  and  yet  one  would 
think  the  contrary  was  taken  for  granted,  by  the  judgment 
commonly  passed  upon  poems.  A  critic  supposes  he  has 
done  his  part,  if  he  proves  a  writer  to  have  failed  in  an 
expression,  or  erred  in  any  particular  point:  and  can  it 
then  be  wondered  at,  if  the  poets' in  general  seem  resolved 
not  to  own  themselves  in  any  error  ?  For  as  long  as  one 
side  will  make  no  allowances,  the  other  will  be  brought  to 
no  acknowledgments. 

I  am  afraid  this  extreme  zeal  on  both  sides  is  ill  placed ; 
poetry  and  criticism  being  by  no  means  the  universal  con- 
cern of  the  world,  but  only  the  affair  of  idle  men  who  write 
in  their  closets,  and  of  idle  men  who  read  there. 
2* 


THE  AUTHORS   PREFACE. 

fet  sure,  upon  the  whole,  a  bad  author  deserves  better 
ge  than  a  bad  critic ;  for  a  writer's  endeavour,  for  the 
most  part,  is  to  please  his  readers,  and  he  fails  merely 
through  the  misfortune  of  an  ill  judgment;  but  such  a 
critic's  is  to  put  them  out  of  humour:  a  design  he  could 
never  go  upon  without  both  that  and  an  ill  temper. 

I  think  a  good  deal  may  be  said  to  extenuate  the  fault 
of  bad  poets.  What  we  call  a  genius,  is  hard  to  be  distin- 
guished, by  a  man  himself,  from  a  strong  inclination ;  and 
if  his  genius  be  ever  so  great,  he  cannot  at  first  discover  it 
any  other  way,  than  by  giving  way  to  that  prevalent  pro- 
pensity which  renders  him  the  more  liable  to  be  mistaken. 
The  only  method  he  has  is  to  make  the  experiment  by 
writing,  and  appealing  to  the  judgment  of  others:  now  if 
he  happens  to  write  ill  (which  is  certainly  no  sin  in  itself) 
he  is  immediately  made  an  object  of  ridicule.  I  wish  we 
had  the  humanity  to  reflect  that  even  the  worst  authors 
might,  in  their  endeavour  to  please  ns,  deserve  something 
at  our  hands.  We  have  no  cause  to  quarrel  with  them  but 
for  their  obstinacy  in  persisting  to  write ;  and  this  too  may 
admit  of  alleviating  circumstances.  Their  particular  friends 
may  be  either  ignorant  or  insincere ;  and  the  rest  of  the 
world  in  general  is  too  well-bred  to  shock  them  with  a 
truth,  which  generally  their  booksellers  are  the  first  that 
inform  them  of.  This  happens  not  till  they  have  spent  too 
much  of  their  time  to  apply  to  any  profession  which  might 
better  fit  their  talents ;  and  till  such  talents  as  they  have 
are  so  far  discredited  as  to  be  but  of  small  service  to  them. 
For  (what  is  the  hardest  case  imaginable)  the  reputation 
of  a  man  generally  depends  upon  the  first  steps  he  makes 
in  the  world ;  and  people  will  establish  their  opinion  of  us, 
from  what  we  do  at  that  season  when  we  have  least  judg- 
ment to  direct  us. 

On  the  other  hand,  a  good  poet  no  sooner  communicates 
his  works  with  the  same  desire  of  information,  but  it  is 
imagined  he  is  a  vain  young  creature  given  up  to  the  am- 
bition 6f  fame;  when  perhaps  the  poor  man  is  all  the  while 
trembling  with  the  fear  of  being  ridiculous.  If  he  is  made 
to  hope  he  may  please  the  world,  he  falls  under  very  un- 
lucky circumstances ;  for,  from  the  moment  he  prints,  he 
must  expect  to  hear  no  more  truth  than  if  he  were  a 
prince  or  a  beauty.  If  he  has  not  very  good  sense  (and 


THE  AUTHORS  PREFACE. 

indeed  there  are  twenty  men  of  wit  for  one  man  of 
his  living  thus  in  a  course  of  flattery  may  put  him  in  no 
small  danger  of  becoming  a  coxcomb :  if  he  has,  he  will 
consequently  have  so  much  diffidence  as  not  to  reap  any 
great  satisfaction  from  his  praise ;  since,  if  it  be  given  to 
his  face,  it  can  scarce  be  distinguished  from  flattery,  and  if 
in  his  absence,  it  is  hard  to  be  certain  of  it.  Were  he  sure 
to  be  commended  by  the  best  and  most  knowing,  he  is  as 
sure  of  being  envied  by  the  worst  and  most  ignorant,  which 
are  the  majority;  for  it  is  with  a  fine  genius  as  with  a  tine 
fashion,  all  those  are  displeased  at  it  who  are  not  able 
to  follow  it:  and  it  is  to  be  feared  that  esteem  will  seldom 
do  any  man  so  much  good,  as  ill-will  does  him  harm.  Then 
there  is  a  third  class  of  people,  who  make  the  largest  part 
of  mankind,  those  of  ordinary  or  indifferent  capacities:  and 
these  (to  a  man)  will  hate  or  suspect  him:  a  hundred 
honest  gentlemen  will  dread  him  as  a  wit,  and  a  hundred 
innocent  women  as  a  satirist.  In  a  word,  whatever  be  his 
fate  in  poetry,  it  is  ten  to  one  but  he  must  give  up  all  the 
reasonable  aims  of  life  for  it.  There  are  indeed  some  ad- 
vantages accruing  from  a  genius  to  poetry,  and  they  ire 
all  I  can  think  of:  the  agreeable  power  of  self-amusement 
when  a  man  is  idle  or  alone ;  the  privilege  of  being  id- 
mi  tted  into  the  best  company ;  and  the  freedom  of  sa\-  ng 
as  many  careless  things  as  other  people,  without  bein^  so 
severely  remarked  upon. 

I  believe,  if  any  one,  early  in  his  life,  should  contemplate 
the  dangerous  fate  of  authors,  he  would  scarce  be  of  their 
number  on  any  consideration.  The  life  of  a  wit  is  a  war- 
fare upon  earth ;  and  the  present  spirit  of  the  learned 
world  is  such,  that  to  attempt  to  serve  it  (any  way)  one 
must  have  the  constancy  of  a  martyr,  and  a  resolution  to 
suffer  for  its  sake.  I  could  wish  people  would  believe, 
what  I  am  pretty  certain  they  will  not,  that  I  have  been 
much  less  concerned  about  fame  than  I  durst  declare  till 
this  occasion,  when  methinks  I  should  find  more  credit 
than  I  could  heretofore:  since  my  writings  have  had  their 
fate  already,  and  it  is  too  late  to  think  of  prepossessing  the 
reader  in  their  favour.  I  would  plead  it  as  some  merit  in 
me,  that  the  world  has  never  been  prepared  for  these 
trilles  by  prefaces,  biassed  by  recommendation,  dazzled 
with  the  names  of  great  patrons,  wheedled  with  fine 
reasons  and  pretences,  or  troubled  with  excuses.  I  confess 


4  THE   AUTHOR'S  PREFACE. 

it  was  want  of  consideration  that  made  me  an  author ;  I 
writ  because  it  amused  me ;  I  corrected  because  it  was  as 
pleasant  to  me  to  correct  as  to  write;  and  I  published 
because  I  was  told,  I  might  please  such  as  it  was  a  credit 
to  please.  To  what  degree  I  have  done  this,  I  am  really 
ignorant ;  I  had  too  much  fondness  for  my  productions  to 
judge  of  them  at  first,  and  too  much  judgment  to  be  pleased 
with  them  at  last.  But  I  have  reason  to  think  they  can 
have  no  reputation  which  will  continue  long,  or  which  de- 
serves to  do  so;  for  they  have  always  fallen  short,  not  only 
of  what  I  read  of  others,  but  even  of  my  own  ideas  of 
poetry. 

If  any  one  should  imagine  I  am  not  in  earnest,  I  desire 
him  to  reflect  that  the  ancients  (to  say  the  least  of  them) 
had  as  much  genius  as  we ;  and  that  to  take  more  pains, 
and  employ  more  time,  cannot  fail  to  produce  more  com- 
plete pieces.  They  constantly  applied  themselves  not  only 
to  that  art,  but  to  that  single  branch  of  an  art,  to  which 
their  talent  was  most  powerfully  bent;  and  it  was  the 
-business  of  their  lives  to  correct  and  finish  their  works  for 
posterity.  If  we  can  pretend  to  have  used  the  same  in- 
dustry, let  us  expect  the  same  immortality ;  though  if  we 
took  the  same  care,  we  should  still  lie  under  a  further  mis- 
fortune :  they  writ  in  languages  that  became  universal  and 
everlasting,  while  ours  are  extremely  limited  both  in  extent 
and  in  duration.  A  mighty  foundation  for  our  pride! 
when  the  utmost  we  can  hope,  is  but  to  be  read  in  one 
island,  and  to  be  thrown  aside  at  the  end  of  one  age. 

All  that  is  left  us  is  to  recommend  our  productions  by 
the  imitation  of  the  ancients:  and  it  will  be  found  true, 
that  in  every  age,  the  highest  character  for  sense  and 
learning  has  been  obtained  by  those  who  have  been  most 
indebted  to  them.  For,  to  say  truth,  whatever  is  very 
good  sense,  must  have  been  common  sense  in  all  times ; 
and  what  we  call  learning,  is  but  the  knowledge  of  the 
sense  of  our  predecessors.  Therefore  they  who  say  our 
thoughts  are  not  our  own,  because  they  resemble  the 
ancients,  may  as  well  say  our  faces  are  not  our  own  because 
they  are  like  our  fathers:  and  indeed  it  is  very  unreason- 
able, that  people-  should  expect  ua  to  be  scholars,  and  yet 
be  angry  to  find  us  so. 


THE  AUTHOll'S   PUEFACE.     '  £ 

I  fairly  confess  that  I  have  served  myself  all  I  could  by 
reading;  that  I  made  use  of  the  judgment  of  authors  dead 
and  living ;  that  I  omitted  no  means  in  my  power  to  be 
informed  of  my  errors,  both  by  my  friends  and  enemies: 
but  the  true  reason  these  pieces  are  not  more  correct,  is 
owing  to  the  consideration  how  short  a  time  they,  and  I, 
have  to  live:  one  may  be  ashamed  to  consume  half  one's 
days  in  bringing  sense  and  rhyme  together:  and  what 
critic  can  be  so  unreasonable,  as  not  to  leave  a  man  time 
enough  for  any  more  serious  employment,  or  more  agree- 
able amusement? 

The  only  plea  I  shall  use  for  the  favour  of  the  public  is, 
that  I  have  as  great  respect  for  it  as  most  authors  have 
for  themselves ;  and  that  I  have  sacrificed  much  of  my  own 
self-love  for  its  sake,  in  preventing  not  only  many  mean 
things  from  seeing  the  light,  but  many  which  I  thought 
tolerable.  I  would  not  be  like  those  authors  who  forgive 
themselves  some  particular  lines  for  the  sake  of  a  whole 
poem,  and  vice  versd  a  whole  poem  for  the  sake  of  some 
particular  lines.  I  believe  no  one  qualification  is  so  likely 
to  make  a  good  writer,  as  the  power  of  rejecting  his  own 
thoughts;  and  it  must  be  this  (if  anything)  that  can  give 
me  a  chance  to  be  one.  For  what  I  have  published,  I  can 
only  hope  to  be  pardoned ;  but  for  what  I  have  burned,  I 
deserve  to  be  praised.  On  this  account  the  world  is  under 
some  obligation  to  me,  and  owes  me  the  justice  in  return, 
to  look  upon  no  verses  as  mine  that  are  not  inserted  in  this 
collection.  And  perhaps  nothing  could  make  it  worth 
my  while  to  own  what  are  really  so,  but  to  avoid  the  im- 
putation of  so  many  dull  and  immoral  things  as,  partly  by 
malice  and  partly  by  ignorance,  have  been  ascribed  to  me. 
I  must  further  acquit  myself  of  the  presumption  of  having 
lent  my  name  to  recommend  any  miscellanies,  or  works  of 
other  men ;  a  thing  I  never  thought  becoming  a  person 
who  has  hardly  credit  enough  to  answer  for  his  own. 

In  this  office  of  collecting  my  pieces,  I  am  altogether  un- 
certain, whether  to  look  upon  myself  as  a  man  building  a 
monument,  or  burying  the  dead. 

If  time  shall  make  it  the  former,  may  these  poems  (as 
long  as  they  last)  remain  as  a  testimony,  that  their  author 
never  made  his  talents  subservient  to  the  mean  and  un- 


6  THE   AUTIIOtt's   PREFACE. 

worthy  ends  of  party  or  self-interest;  the  gratification  of 
public  prejudices,  or  private  passions ;  the  flattery  of  the 
undeserving,  or  the  insult  of  the  unfortunate.  If  I  have 
written  well,  let  it  be  considered  that  'tis  what  no  man  can 
do  without  good  sense,  a  quality  that  not  only  renders  one 
capable  of  being  a  good  writer,  but  a  good  man.  And  if  I 
have  made  any  acquisition  in  the  opinion  of  anyone  under 
the  notion  of  the  former,  let  it  be  continued  to  me  under 
,no  other  title  than  that  of  the  latter. 

But  if  this  publication  be  only  a  more  solemn  funeral  of 
my  remains,  I  desire  it  may  be  known  that  I  die  in  charity, 
and  in  my  senses ;  without  any  murmurs  against  the  justice 
of  this  age,  or  any  mad  appeals  to  posterity.  I  declare  I 
shall  think  the  world  in  the  right,  and  quietly  submit  to 
every  truth  which  time  shall  discover  to  the  prejudice  of 
these  writings;  not  so  much  as  wishing  so  irrational  a 
thing,  as  that  everybody  should  be  deceived  merely  for  my 
credit.  However,  I  desire  it  may  then  be  considered,  that 
there  are  very  few  things  in  this  collection  which  were  not 
written  under  the  age  of  five-and-twenty :  so  that  my  youth 
may  be  made  (as  it  never  fails  to  be  in  executions)  a  case 
of  compassion.  That  I  was  never  so  concerned  about  my 
works  as  to  vindicate  them  in  print;  believing,  if  anything 
was  good,  it  would  defend  itself,  and  what  was  bad  could 
never  be  defended.  That  I  used  no  artifice  to  raise  or 
continue  a  reputation,  depreciated  no  dead  author  I  was 
obliged  to,  bribed  no  living  one  with  unjust  praise,  insulted 
no  adversary  with  ill  language ;  or,  when  I  could  not  attack 
a  rival's  works,  encouraged  reports  against  his  morals.  To 
conclude,  if  this  volume  perish,  let  it  serve  as  a  warning  to 
the  critics,  not  to  take  too  much  pains  for  the  future  to 
destroy  such  things  as  will  die  of  themselves ;  and  a  me- 
mento mori  to  some  of  my  vain  contemporaries  the  poets, 
to  teach  them  that,  when  real  merit  is  wanting,  it  avails 
nothing  to  have  been  encouraged  by  the  great,  commended 
by  the  eminent,  and  favoured  by  the  public  in  general. 


Nov.  10, 1716. 


PASTORALS, 


A  DISCOURSE  ON  PASTORAL  POETRY.1 

WRITTEN   IN   THE   YEAH  MDCCIV. 

Itura  mihi  et  rigui  placeant  in  vallibus  amnes, 
Flumina  anicm,  sylvaaque,  inglorius! — I'irg. 

THERE  are  not,  I  believe,  a  greater  number  of  any  sort  of 
verses  than  of  those  which  are  called  Pastorals  ;  nor  a 
smaller  than  of  those  which  are  truly  so.  It  therefore 
seems  necessary  to  give  some  account  ot  this  kind  of  poem, 
and  it  is  my  design  to  comprise  in  this  short  paper  the 
substance  of  those  numerous  dissertations  that  critics  have 
made  on  the  subject,  without  omitting  any  of  their  rules 
in  my  own  favour.  You  will  also  find  some  points  recon- 
ciled, about  which  they  seem  to  differ,  and  a  few  remarks, 
which,  I  think,  have  escaped  their  observation. 

The  original  of  poetry  is  ascribed  to  that  age  which 
succeeded  the  creation  of  the  world:  and  as  the  keeping  of 
flocks  seems  to  have  been  the  first  employment  of  man- 
kind, the  most  ancient  sort  of  poetry  was  probably  pas- 
toral? It  is  natural  to  imagine,  that  the  leisure  of  those 
ancient  shepherds  admitting  and  inviting  some  diversion, 
none  was  so  proper  to  that  solitary  and  sedentary  life  as 
singing;  and  that  in  their  songs  they  took  occasion  to 
celebrate  their  own  felicity.  From  hence  a  poem  was 
invented,  and  afterwards  improved  to  a  perfect  image  of 
that  happy  time;  which,  by  giving  us  an  esteem  for  the 
virtues  of  a  former  age,  might  recommend  them  to  the 
present.  And  since  the  life  of  shepherds  was  attended 
with  more  tranquillity  than  any  other  rural  employment, 
the  poets  chose  to  introduce  their  persons,  from  whom  it 
received  the  name  of  Pastoral. 

1  Written  at  sixteen  years  of  age. 

2  Fontenelle'b  Disc,  ou  Pastorals. 


8  PASTORALS. 

A  pastoral  is  an  imitation  of  the  action  of  a  shepherd, 
or  one  considered  under  that  character.  The  form  of  this 
imitation  is  dramatic,  or  narrative,  or  mixed  of  both  ;l  the 
fable  simple,  the  manners  not  too  polite  nor  too  rustic ; 
the  thoughts  are  plain,  yet  admit  a  little  quickness  and 
passion,  but  that  short  and  flowing:  the  expression  humble, 
yet  as  pure  as  the  language  will  afford;  neat,  but  not 
florid;  easy,  and  yet  lively.  In  short,  the  fable,  manners, 
thoughts,  and  expressions,  are  full  of  the  greatest  sim- 
plicity in  nature. 

The  complete  character  of  this  poem  consists  in  sim- 
plicity,2 brevity,  and  delicacy;  the  two  first  of  which 
render  an  eclogue  natural,  and  the  last  delightful. 

If  we  would  copy  nature,  it  may  be  useful  to  take  this 
idea  along  with  us,  that  pastoral  is  an  image  of  what  they 
call  the  golden  age.  So  that  we  are  not  to  describe  our 
shepherds  as  shepherds  at  this  day  really  are,  but  as  they 
may  be  conceived  then  to  have  been ;  when  the  best  of 
men  followed  the  employment.  To  carry  this  resemblance 
yet  further,  it  would  not  be  amiss  to  give  these  shepherds 
some  skill  in  astronomy,  as  far  as  it  may  be  useful  to  that 
sort  of  life.  And  an  air  of  piety  to  the  gods  should  shine 
through  the  poem,  which  so  visibly  appears  in  all  the 
works  of  antiquity:  and  it  ought  to  preserve  some  relish 
of  the  old  way  of  writing ;  the  connexion  should  be  loose, 
the  narrations  and  descriptions  short,3  and  the  periods 
concise.  Yet  it  is  not  sufficient  that  the  sentences  only  be 
brief,  the  whole  eclogue  should  be  so  too.  For  we  cannot 
suppose  poetry  in  those  days  to  have  been  the  business  of 
men,  but  thejr  recreation  at  vacant  hours. 

But  with  a  respect  to  the  present  age,  nothing  more 
conduces  to  make  these  composui-es  natural,  than  when 
some  knowledge  in  rural  affairs  is  discovered.4  This  may 
be  made  to  appear  rather  done  by  chance  than  on  design 
and  sometimes  is  best  shown  by  inference;  lest  by  too, 
much  study  to  seem  natural,  we  destroy  that  easy  sim- 
plicity from  whence  arises  the  delight.  For  what  ia 
inviting  in  this  sort  of  poetry  proceeds  not  so  much  from 

l  Ileinsius  in  Theocr.  2  Rapin  de  Carm.  Past.  p.  2. 

3  Eapin,  Reflex,  sur  1'Art  Poet.  d'Arist.  p.  2.  Kefl.  xxvii. 
«  Tref.  to  Virg.  Past,  in  Dryd.  Virg. 


PASTORALS.  9 

the  idea  of  that  business,  as  of  the  tranquillity  of  a  country 
life. 

"We  must  therefore  use  some  illusion  to  render  a  pastoral 
delightful ;  and  this  consists  in  exposing  the  best  side  only 
of  a  shepherd's  life,  and  in  concealing  its  miseries.1  Nor 
is  it  enough  to  introduce  shepherds  discoursing  together 
in  a  natural  way ;  but  a  regard  must  be  had  to  the  subject ; 
that  it  contain  some  particular  beauty  in  itself,  and  that 
it  be  different  in  every  eclogue.  Besides,  in  each  of  them 
a  designed  scene  or  prospect  is  to  be  presented  to  our 
view,  which  should  likewise  have  its  variety.2  This  variety 
is  obtained  in  a  great  degree  by  frequent  comparisons, 
drawn  from  the  most  agreeable  objects  of  the  country; 
by  interrogations  to  things  inanimate ;  by  beautiful  digres- 
sions, but  those  short ;  sometimes  by  insisting  a  little  on 
circumstances ;  and  lastly,  by  elegant  turns  on  the  words, 
which  render  the  numbers  extremely  sweet  and  pleasing. 
As  for  the  numbers  themselves,  though  they  are  properly 
of  the  heroic  measure,  they  should  be  the  smoothest,  the 
most  easy  and  flowing  imaginable. 

It  is  by  rules  like  these  that  we  ought  to  judge  of  pas- 
toral. And  since  the  instructions  given  for  any  art  are  to 
be  delivered  as  that  art  is  in  perfection,  they  must  of 
necessity  be  derived  from  those  in  whom  it  is  acknow- 
ledged so  to  be.  It  is  therefore  from  the  practice  of 
Theocritus  and  Virgil  (the  only  undisputed  authors  of 
pastoral)  that  the  critics  have  drawn  the  foregoing  notions 
concerning  it. 

Theocritus  excels  all  others  in  nature  and  simplicity. 
The  subjects  of  his  Idyllia  are  purely  pastoral ;  but  he  is 
not  so  exact  in  his  persons,  having  introduced  reapers3 
and  fishermen  as  well  as  shepherds.  He  is  apt  to  be  too 
long  in  his  descriptions,  of  which  that  of  the  cup  in  the 
first  pastoral  is  a  remarkable  instance.  In  the  manners 
he  seems  a  little  defective,  for  his  swains  are  sometimes 
abusive  and  immodest,  and  perhaps  too  much  inclining  to 
rusticity;  for  instance,  in  his  fourth  and  fifth  Idyllia. 
But  'tis  enough  that  all  others  learnt  their  excellencies 

l  Fontenelle's  Disc,  of  Pastorals. 
*  See  the  fort-mentioned  Preface. 
»  6EPI2TAI.  Idyl.  x.  and  AA1E12.  Idyl.  xxl. 
3 


10  PASTORALS. 

from  him,  and  that  his  dialect  alone  has  a  secret  charm  in 
it,  which  no  other  could  ever  attain. 

Virgil,  who  copies  Theocritus,  refines  upon  his  original ; 
and  in  all  points,  where  judgment  is  principally  concerned, 
he  is  much  superior  to  his  master.  Though  some  of  his 
subjects  are  not  pastoral  in  themselves,  but  only  seem  to 
be  such ;  they  have  a  wonderful  variety  in  them,  which 
the  Greek  was  a  stranger  to.1  He  exceeds  him  in  regu- 
larity and  brevity,  and  falls  short  of  him  in  nothing  but 
simplicity  and  propriety  of  style  ;  the  first  of  which  per- 
haps was  the  fault  of  his  age,  and  the  last  of  his  language. 

Among  the  moderns,  their  success  has  been  greatest 
who  have  most  endeavoured  to  make  these  ancients  their 
pattern.  The  most  considerable  genius  appears  in  the 
famous  Tasso  and  our  Spenser.  Tasso  in  his  Aminta  has 
as  far  excelled  all  the  pastoral  writers,  as  in  his  Gierusa- 
lemme  he  has  outdone  the  epic  poets,  of  his  country.  But 
as  this  piece  seems  to  have  been  the  original  of  a  new  sort 
of  poem,  the  Pastoral  Comedy,  in  Italy,  it  cannot  so  well 
.be  considered  as  a  copy  of  the  ancients.  Spenser's  Calen- 
dar, in  Mr.  Dryden's  opinion,  is  the  most  complete  work 
of  this  kind  which  any  nation  has  produced  ever  since  the 
time  of  Virgil.2  Not  but  that  he  may  be  thought  imper- 
fect in  some  few  points.  His  eclogues  are  somewhat  too 
long,  if  we  compare  them  with  the  ancients.  He  is  some- 
times too  allegorical,  and  treats  of  matters  of  religion  in  a 
pastoral  style,  as  the  Mantuan  had  done  before  him.  He 
has  employed  the  lyric  measure,  which  is  contrary  to  the 
practice  of  the  old  poets.  His  stanza  is  not  still  the  same, 
nor  always  well  chosen.  This  last  may  be  the  reason  his 
expression  is  sometimes  not  concise  enough ;  for  the 
Tetrastic  has  obliged  him  to  extend  his  sense  to  the  length 
of  four  lines,  which  would  have  been  more  closely  con- 
fined in  the  couplet. 

In  the  manners,  thoughts,  and  characters,  he  comes 
near  to  Theocritus  himself;  though,  notwithstanding  all 
the  care  he  has  taken,  he  is  certainly  interior  in  his  dialect : 
for  the  Doric  had  its  beauty  and  propriety  in  the  time  of 
Theocritus  ;  it  was  used  in  part  of  Greece,  and  frequent  in 

i  Rapin,  Eefl.  on  Arist.  part.  ii.  refl.  xxvii. — Pref.  to  the  Eel.  in 
Dryden's  Virg.  2  Dedication  to  Virg.  Eel. 


PASTORALS.  11 

the  mouths  of  many  of  the  greatest  persons :  •whereas  the  old 
English  and  country  phrases  of  Spenser  were  either  entirely 
obsolete,  or  spoken  only  by  people  ot  the  lowest  condition. 
As  there  is  ^a  difference  betwixt  simplicity  and  rusticity, 
so  the  expressiotf  of  simple  thoughts  should  be  plain,  but 
not  clownish.  The  addition  he  has  made  of  a  Calendar 
to  his  eclogues,  is** very  beautiful ;  since  by  this,  besides  the 
general  moral  of  innocence  and  simplicity,  which  is  com- 
mon to  other  authors  of  pastoral,  he  has  one  peculiar  to 
himself;  he  compares  human  life  to  the  several  seasons, 
and  at  once  exposes  to  his  readers  a  view  of  the  great  and 
little  worlds,  in  their  various  changes  and  aspects.  Yet 
the  scrupulous  division  of  his  pastorals  into  months,  has 
obliged  him  either  to  repeat  the  same  description,  in  other 
words,  for  three  months  together ;  or,  when  it  was  ex- 
hausted before,  entirely  to  omit  it :  whence  it  comes  to 
pass  that  some  of  his  eclogues  (as  the  sixth,  eighth,  and 
tenth,  for  example)  have  nothing  but  their  titles  to  dis- 
tinguish them.  The  reason  is  evident,  because  the  year 
has  not  that  variety  in  it  to  furnish  every  month  with  a 
particular  description,  as  it  may  every  season. 

Of  the  following  eclogues  I  shall  oidy  say  that  these 
four  comprehend  all  the  subjects  which  the  critics  upon 
Theocritus  and  Virgil  will  allow  to  be  fit  for  pastoral: 
that  they  have  as  much  variety  of  description,  in  respect 
of  the  several  seasons,  as  Spenser's  ;  that  in  order  to  add 
to  this  variety,  the  several  times  of  the  day  are  observed, 
the  rural  employments  in  each  season  or  time  of  day,  and 
the  rural  scenes  or  places  proper  to  such  employments ; 
not  without  some  regard  to  the  several  ages  of  man,  and 
the  different  passions  proper  to  each  age. 

But  after  all,  if  they  have  any  merit,  it  is  to  be  attri- 
buted to  some  good  old  authors,  whose  works  as  I  had 
leisure  to  study,  so  I  hope  I  have  not  wanted  care  to 
imitate. 


12  PASTORALS. 

These  Pastorals  were  written  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  and 
then  passed  through  the  hands  of  Mr.  Walsh,  Mr.  Wycher- 
ley,  G.  Granville  afterwards  Lord  Lausdown,  Sir  William 
Trumbal,  Dr.  Garth,  Lord  Halifax,  Lord  Somers,  Mr. 
Mainwaring,  and  others.  All  these  gave  our  author  the 
greatest  encouragement,  and  particularly  Mr.  W'alsh, 
whom  Mr.  Dryden,  in  his  postscript  to  Virgil,  calls  the 
best  critic  of  his  age.  "The  author  (says  he)  seems  to 
have  a  particular  genius  for  this  kind  of  poetry,  and  a 
judgment  that  much  exceeds  his  years.  He  has  taken 
very  freely  from  the  ancients.  But  what  he  has  mixed  of 
his  own  with  theirs  is  no  way  inferior  to  what  he  has 
taken  from  them.  It  is  not  flattery  at  all  to  say,  that 
Virgil  had  written  nothing  so  good  at  his  age.  His  pre- 
face is  very  judicious  and  learned." 


SPKING : 

THE   FIRST   PASTORAL,  OR 

Damon. 

TO    SIR    WILLIAM    TRUMBAL. 

FIRST  in  these  fields  I  try  the  silvan  strains, 
Nor  blush  to  sport  on  Windsor's  blissful  plains : 
Fair  Thames,  flow  gently  from  thy  sacred  spring, 
While  on  thy  banks  Sicilian  Muses  sing ; 
Let  vernal  airs  through  trembling  osiers  play, 
And  Albion's  cliffs  resound  the  rural  lay. 

You,  that  too  wise  for  pride,  too  good  for  power, 
Enjoy  the  glory  to  be  great  no  more, 
And,  carrying  with  you  all  the  world  can  boast, 
To  all  the  world  illustriously  are  lost ! 
O  let  my  muse  her  slender  reed  inspire, 
Till  in  your  native  shades  you  tune  the  lyre : 
So  when  the  nightingale  to  rest  removes, 
The  thrush  may  chant  to  the  forsaken  groves, 
But  charm'd  to  silence,  listens  while  she  sings, 
And  all  the  aerial  audience  clap  their  wings. 

Soon  as  the  flocks  shook  off  the  nightly  dews, 
Two  swains,  whom  love  kept  wakeful,  and  the  muse, 
Pour'd  o'er  the  whitening  vale  their  fleecy  care, 
Fresh  as  the  morn,  and  as  the  season  fair : 


PASTORALS.  13 

The  dawn  now  blushing  on  the  mountain's  side, 
Thus  Daphnis  spoke,  and  Strephon  thus  replied. 

DAPHMS. 

Hear  how  the  birds,  on  every  blooming  spray, 
With  joyous  music  wake  the  dawning  day! 
Why  sit  we  mute,  when  early  linnets  sing, 
When  warblin?  Philomel  salutes  the  spring? 
Why  sit  we  sad,  when  Phosphor  shines  so  clear, 
And  lavish  nature  paints  the  purple  year? 

STREPHON. 

Sing  then,  and  Damon  shall  attend  the  strain, 
While  yon  slow  oxen  turn  the  furrow'd  plain, 
Here  the  bright  crocus  and  blue  violet  glow, 
Here  western  winds  on  breathing  roses  blow. 
I'll  stake  yon  lamb,  that  near  the  fountain  plays, 
And  from  the  brink  his  dancing  shade  surveys. 


And  I  this  bowl,  where  wanton  ivy  twines, 
And  swelling  clusters  bend  the  curling  vines: 
Four  figures  rising  from  the  work  appear, 
The  various  seasons  of  the  rolling  year ; 
And  what  is  that,  which  binds  the  radiant  sky, 
Where  twelve  fair  signs  in  beauteous  order  lie  1 

DAMON. 

Then  sing  by  turns,  by  turns  the  Muses  sing  ; 
Now  hawthorns  blossom,  now  the  daisies  spring, 
Now  leaves  the  trees,  and  flowers  adorn  the  ground 
Begin,  the  vales  shall  every  note  rebound. 

STKEPHON. 

Inspire  me,  Phoebus,  in  my  Delia's  praise, 
With  Waller's  strains,  or  Granville's  moving  lays  ! 
A  milk-white  bull  shall  at  your  altars  stand, 
That  threats  a  fight,  and  spurns  the  rising  sand. 


O  Love!  for  Sylvia  let  me  gain  the  prize, 
And  make  my  tongue  victorious  as  her  eyes  : 
No  lambs  or  sheep  for  victims  I'll  impart, 
Thy  victim,  Love,  shall  be*  the  shepherd's  heart 
3* 


14  PASTOUALS. 

STREPHON. 

Me  gentle  Delia  beckons  from  the  plain, 
Then  hid  in  shades,  eludes  her  eager  swain; 
But  feigns  a  laugh,  to  see  me  search  around, 
And  by  that  laugh  the  willing  fair  is  found. 

DAPHNIS. 

The  sprightly  Sylvia  trips  along  the  green, 
She  runs,  but  hopes  she  does  not  run  unseen ; 
While  a  kind  glance  at  her  pursuer  flies, 
How  much  at  variance  are  her  feet  and  eyes  ! 

STREPHON. 

O'er  golden  sands  let  rich  Pactolus  flow, 
And  trees  weep  amber  on  the  banks  of  Po ; 
The  Thames  bright  shores  the  brightest  beauties  yield, 
Feed  here  my  lambs,  I'll  seek  no  distant  field. 

DAPHNIS. 

Celestial  Venus  haunts  Idalia's  groves ; 
Diana  Cynthus,  Ceres  Hybla  loves ; 
If  Windsor-shades  delight  the  matchless  maid, 
Cynthus  and  Hybla  yield  to  Windsor-shade. 


All  nature  mourns,  the  skies  relent  in  showers, 
Hush'd  are  the  birds,  and  closed  the  drooping  flowers  j 
If  Delia  smile,  the  flowers  begin  to  spring, 
The  skies  to  brighten,  and  the  birds  to  sing. 

DAPHNIS. 

All  nature  laughs,  the  groves  are  fresh  and  fair, 
The  sun's  mild  lustre  warms  the  vital  air ; 
If  Sylvia  smiles,  new  glories  gild  the  shore, 
And  vanquished  nature  seems  to  charm  no  more. 

STREPHON. 

In  spring  the  fields,  in  autumn  hills  I  love, 
At  morn  the  plains,  at  noon  the  shady  grove, 
But  Delia  always ;  absent  from  her  sight, 
Nor  plains  at  morn,  nor  groves  at  noon  delight. 

DAPHNIS. 

Sylvia's  like  autumn  ripe,  yet  mild  as  May, 
More  bright  than  noon,  yet  fresh  as  early  day; 


PASTORALS,  15 

Even  spring  displeases,  when  she  shines  not  here ; 
But  blest  with  her,  'tis  spring  throughout  the  year. 


Say,  Daphnis,  say,  in  what  glad  soil  appears 
A  wondrous  tree  that  sacred  monarchs  bears; 
Tell  me  but  this,  and  I'll  disclaim  the  prize, 
And  give  the  conquest  to  thy  Sylvia's  eyes. 
DAPHNIS. 

Nay  tell  me  first,  in  what  more  happy  fields 
The  thistle  springs,  to  which  the  lily  yields: 
And  then  a  nobler  prize  I  will  resign ; 
For  Sylvia,  charming  Sylvia,  shall  be  thine. 
DAMON. 

Cease  to  contend,  for,  Daphnis,  I  decree, 
The  bowl  to  Strephon,  and  the  lamb  to  thee : 
Blest  swains,  whose  nymphs  in  every  grace  excel ; 
Blest  nymphs,  whose  swains  those  graces  sing  so  well ! 
Now  rise,  and  haste  to  yonder  woodbine  bowers, 
A  soft  retreat  from  sudden  vernal  showers ; 
The  turf  with  rural  dainties  shall  be  crown'd, 
While  opening  blooms  diffuse  their  sweets  around. 
For  see !  the  gathering  flocks  to  shelter  tend, 
And  from  the  Pleiads  fruitful  showers  descend. 


SUMMER: 

THE  SECOND   PASTORAL,  OR 

•tab. 

The  scene  of  this  pastoral  by  the  river  side,  suitable  to  the  beat 
of  the  season ;  the  time,  noon. 

TO  DR.  GARTH, 

AUTHOR  OF   "THE  DISPENSARY." 

A  SHEPHERD'S  boy  (he  seeks  no  better  name) 
Led  forth  his  flocks  along  the  silver  Thame, 
Where  dancing  sunbeams  on  the  waters  play'd, 
And  verdant  alders  form'd  a  quivering  shade. 
Soft  as  he  mourn'd,  the  streams  forgot  to  flow, 
The  flocks  around  a  dumb  compassion  show, 


16  PASTORALS. 

The  Naiads  wept  in  every  watery  bower, 
And  Jove  consented  in  a  silent  shower. 

Accept,  O  GARTH  !  the  Muse's  early  lays, 
That  adds  this  wreath  of  ivy  to  thy  bays ; 
Hear  what  from  Love  unpractised  hearts  endure, 
From  Love,  the»sole  disease  thou  canst  not  cure. 

Ye  shady  beeches,  and  ye  cooling  streams, 
Defence  from  Phoebus',  not  from  Cupid's  beams, 
To  you  I  mourn,  nor  to  the  deaf  I  sing, 
The  woods  shall  answer,  and  their  echo  ring. 
The  hills  and  rocks  attend  my  doleful  lay, 
Why  art  thou  prouder  and  more  hard  than  they  ? 
The  bleating  sheep  with  my  complaints  agree, 
They  parch'd  with  heat,  and  I  inflamed  by  thee. 
The  sultry  Sirius  burns  the  thirsty  plains, 
While  in  thy  heart  eternal  winter  reigns. 

Where  stray  ye,  Muses,  in  what  lawn  or  grove, 
While  your  Alexis  pines  in  hopeless  love? 
In  those  fair  fields  where  sacred  Isis  glides, 
Or  else  where  Cam  his  winding  vales  divides  1 
As  in  the  crystal  spring  I  view  my  face, 
Fresh-rising  blushes  paint  the  watery  glass ; 
But  since  those  graces  please  thy  eyes  no  more, 
I  shun  the  fountains  which  I  sought  before. 
Once  I  was  skill'd  in  every  herb  that  grew, 
And  every  plant  that  drinks  the  morning  dew ; 
Ah,  wretched  shepherd,  what  avails  thy  art, 
To  cure  thy  lambs,  but  not  to  heal  thy  heart ! 

Let  other  swains  attend  the  rural  care, 
Feed  fairer  flocks,  or  richer  fleeces  shear: 
But  nigh  yon  mountain  let  me  tune  my  lays, 
Embrace  my  love,  and  bind  my  brows  with  bays. 
That  flute  is  mine  which  Colin's  tuneful  breath 
Inspired  when  living,  and  bequeath'd  in  death : 
He  said ;  Alexis,  take  this  pipe,  the  same 
That  taught  the  groves  my  Rosalinda's  name : 
But  now  the  reeds  shall  hang  on  yonder  tree, 
For  ever  silent,  since  despised  by  thee. 
Oh  !  were  I  made  by  some  transforming  power 
The  captive  bird  that  sings  within  thy  bower ! 
Then  might  my  voice  thy  listening  ears  employ, 
And  I  those  kisses  he  receives  enjoy. 

And  yet  my  numbers  please  the  rural  throng, 
Rough  satyrs  dance,  and  Pan  applauds  the  song : 


PASTORALS.  17 

The  nymphs,  forsaking  every  cave  and  spring, 
Their  early  fruit  and  milk-white  turtles  bring ! 
Each  amorous  nymph  prefers  her  gifts  in  vain, 
On  you  their  gifts  are  all  bestow'd  again. 
For  you  the  swains  their  fairest  flowers  design, 
And  in  one  garland  all  their  beauties  join ; 
Accept  the  wreath  which  you  deserve  alone, 
In  whom  all  beauties  are  comprised  in  one. 

See  what  delights  in  silvan  scenes  appear ! 
Descending  gods  have  found  Elysium  here. 
In  woods  bright  Venus  with  Adonis  stray'd, 
Arid  chaste  Diana  haunts  the  forest-shade. 
Come,  lovely  nymph,  and  bless  the  silent  hours, 
When  swains  from  shearing  seek  their  nightly  bowers ; 
"Wheii  weary  reapers  quit  the  sultry  field, 
And  crown'd  with  corn  their  thanks  to  Ceres  yield. 
This  harmless  grove  no  lurking  viper  hides, 
But  in  my  breast  the  serpent  Love  abides. 
Here  bees  from  blossoms  sip  the  rosy  dew, 
But  your  Alexis  knows  no  sweets  but  you. 
O  deign  to  visit  our  forsaken  seats, 
The  mossy  fountains,  and  the  green  retreats ! 
Where'er  you  walk,  cool  gales  shall  Ian  the  glade, 
Trees,  where  you  sit,  shall  crowd  into  a  shade : 
Where'er  you  tread  the  blushing  flowers  shall  rise, 
And  all  things  flourish  where  you  turn  your  eyes. 
O !  how  I  long  with  you  to  pass  my  days, 
Invoke  the  Muses,  and  resound  your  praise! 
Your  praise  the  birds  shall  chant  in  every  grove, 
And  winds  shall  waft  it  to  the  powers  above. 
But  would  yqu  sing,  and  rival  Orpheus'  strain, 
The  wondering  forests  soon  should  dance  again, 
The  moving  mountains  hear  the  powerful  call, 
And  headlong  streams  hang  listening  in  their  fall ! 

But  see,  the  shepherds  shun  the  noon-day  heat, 
The  lowing  herds  to  murmuring  brooks  retreat, 
To  closer  shades  the  panting  flocks  remove ; 
Ye  gods !  and  is  there  no  relief  for  love? 
But  soon  the  sun  with  milder  rays  descends 
To  the  cool  ocean,  where  his  journey  ends. 
On  me  Love's  fiercer  flames  for  ever  prey, 
By  night  he  scorches,  as  he  burns  by  day. 


18 
AUTUMN: 

THE  THIRD    PASTORAL,  OR 

tt  ?lrgon. 


Ibis  pastoral  consists  of  two  parts,  like  the  eighth  of  Virgil: 
The  Scene,  a  Hill;  the  Time,  at  Sunset. 

TO  MR.  WYCHERLEY. 

A  FAMOUS  AUTHOR  OF  COMEDIES;   OF  WHICH  THE  MOST  CELEBRATED 
WERE  THE   "  PLAIN   DEALER"  AND  "  COUNTRY  WIFE." 

BENEATH  the  shade  a  spreading  beech  displays, 
Hylas  and  .^Egon  sung  their  rural  lays  ; 
This  mourn'd  a  faithless,  that  an  absent  love, 
And  Delia's  name  and  Doris'  fill'd  the  grove. 
Ye  Mantuan  nymphs,  your  sacred  succour  bring; 
Hylas  and  ^Egon's  rural  lays  I  sing. 

Thou,  whom  the  Nine  with  Plautus'  wit  inspire, 
The  art  of  Terence,  and  Menander's  fire  ; 
"Whose  sense  instructs  us,  and  whose  humour  charms, 
Whose  judgment  sways  us,  and  whose  spirit  warms  ! 
Oh,  skill'd  in  nature  !  see  the  hearts  of  swains, 
Their  artless  passions,  and  their  tender  pains. 

Now  setting  Phoebus  shone  serenely  bright, 
And  fleecy  clouds  were  streak'd  with  purple  light  ; 
When  tuneful  Hylas  with  melodious  moan, 
Taught  rocks  to  weep,  and  made  the  mountains  groau. 

Go,  gentle  gales,  and  bear  my  sighs  away  ! 
To  Delia's  ear  the  tender  notes  convey. 
As  some  sad  turtle  his  lost  love  deplores, 
And  with  deep  murmurs  fills  th#sounding  shores; 
Thus,  far  from  Delia,  to  the  winds  I  mourn 
Alike  unheard,  unpitied,  and  forlorn. 

Go,  gentle  gales,  and  bear  my  sighs  along  ! 
For  her,  the  feather'd  choirs  neglect  their  song: 
For  her,  the  limes  their  pleasing  shades  deny  ; 
For  her,  the  lilies  hang  their  heads  and  die. 
Ye  flowers  that  droop,  forsaken  by  the  spring, 
Ye  birds  that,  left  by  summer,  cease  to  sing, 
Ye  trees  that  fade  when  autumn-heats  remove, 
Say,  is  not  absence  death  to  those  who  love  1 

Go,  gentle  gales,  and  bear  my  sighs  away  ! 
Cursed  be  the  fields  that  cause  my  Delia's  stay  ; 


PASTORALS.  19 

Fade  every  blossom,  wither  every  tree, 
Die  every  flower,  and  perish  all,  but  she. 
"What  have  I  said  1  where'er  my  Delia  flies, 
Let  spring  attend,  and  sudden  flowers  arise ; 
Let  opening  roses  knotted  oaks  adorn, 
And  liquid  amber  drop  from  every  thorn. 

Go,  gentle  gales,  and  bear  my  sighs  along ! 
The  birds  shall  cease  to  tune  their  evening  song, 
The  winds  to  breathe,  the  waving  woods  to  move, 
And  streams  to  murmur,  ere  I  cease  to  love. 
Not  bubbling  fountains  to  the  thirsty  swain, 
Not  balmy  sleep  to  labourers  faint  with  pain, 
Not  showers  to  larks,  nor  sunshine  to  the  bee, 
Are  half  so  charming  as  thy  sight  to  me. 

Go,  gentle  gales,  and  bear  my  sighs  away! 
Come,  Delia,  come ;  ah,  why  this  long  delay  ? 
Thro'  rocks  and  caves  the  name  of  Delia  sounds, 
Delia !  each  cave  and  echoing  rock  rebounds. 
Ye  powers,  what  pleasing  frenzy  soothes  my  mind  ! 
Do  lovers  dream,  or  is  my  Delia  kind  ? 
She  comes,  my  Delia  comes !    Now  cease  my  lay, 
And  cease,  ye  gales,  to  bear  my  sighs  away  ! 

Next  ^Egon  sung,  while  Windsor  groves  admired ; 
Rehearse,  ye  Muses,  what  yourselves  inspired. 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful  strain ! 
Of  perjured  Doris,  dying  I  complain  ! 
Here,  where  the  mountains,  lessening  as  they  rise 
Lose  the  low  vales,  and  steal  into  the  skies ; 
While  labouring  oxen,  spent  with  toil  and  heat, 
In  their  loose  traces  from  the  field  retreat : 
While  curling  smoke  from  village-tops  are  seen, 
And  the  fleet  shades  glide  o'er  the  dusky  green. 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful  lay ! 
Beneath  yon  poplar  oft  we  pass'd  the  day; 
Oft  on  the  rind  I  carved  her  amorous  vows, 
While  she  with  garlands  hung  the  bending  boughs ; 
The  garlands  fade,  the  vows  are  worn  away  j 
So  dies  her  love,  and  so  my  hopes  decay. 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful  strain  ! 
Now  bright  Arcturus  glads  the  teeming  grain, 
Now  golden  fruits  on  loaded  branches  shine, 
And  grateful  clusters  swell  with  floods  of  wine  ; 
Now  blushing  berries  paint  the  yellow  grove  ; 
Just  gods !  shall  all  things  yield  returns  but  love  ? 


20  PASTORALS. 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful  lay ! 
The  shepherds  cry,  "  Thy  flocks  are  left  a  prey"-— 
Ah  !  what  avails  it  me,  the  flocks  to  keep, 
Who  lost  my  heart  while  I  preserved  my  sheep. 
Pan  came,  and  ask'd  what  magic  caused  my  smart, 
Or  what  ill  eyes  malignant  glances  dart  ? 
"What  eyes  but  hers,  alas,  have  power  to  move  ! 
And  is  there  magic  but  what  dwells  in  love  ! 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful  strains ! 
I'll  fly  from  shepherds,  flocks,  and  flowery  plains, 
From  shepherds,  flocks,  and  plains,  I  may  remove, 
Forsake  mankind,  and  all  the  world — but  love ! 
I  know  thee,  Love  !  on  foreign  mountains  bred, 
Wolves  gave  thee  suck,  and  savage  tigers  fed. 
Thou  wert  from  Etna's  burning  entrails  torn, 
Got  by  fierce  whirlwinds,  and  in  thunder  born  ! 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful  lay  ! 
Farewell,  ye  woods,  adieu  the  light  of  day  ! 
One  leap  from  yonder  cliif  shall  end  my  pains, 
No  more,  ye  hills,  no  more  resound  my  strains  ! 

Thus  sung  the  shepherds  till  the  approach  of  night, 
The  skies  yet  blushing  with  departing  light, 
When  falling  dews  with  spangles  deck'd  the  glade, 
And  the  low  sun  had  lengthen'd  every  shade. 


WINTER  : 

THE  FOURTH    PASTORAL,  OB 

SBapljne. 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  MRS.  TEMPEST. 
LYCIDAS. 

THYRSIS,  the  music  of  that  murmuring  spring 
Is  not  so  mournful  as  the  strains  you  sing; 
Nor  rivers  winding  through  the  vales  below, 
So  sweetly  warble,  or  so  smoothly  flow. 
Now  sleeping  flocks  on  their  soft  fleeces  lie, 
The  moon,  serene  in  glory,  mounts  the  sky, 
While  silent  birds  forget  their  tuneful  lays, 
Oh  sing  of  Daphne's  fate,  and  Daphne's  praise ! 

THYRSIS. 

Behold  the  groves  that  shine  with  silver  frost, 
Their  beauty  wither'd,  and  their  verdure  lost. 


PASTORALS.  21 

Here  shall  I  try  the  sweet  Alexis'  strain, 
That  call'd  the  listening  Dryads  to  the  plain  ? 
Thames  heard  the  numbers  as  he  flow'd  along, 
And  bade  his  willows  learn  the  moving  song. 

LTCIDAS. 

So  may  kind  rains  their  vital  moisture  yield, 
And  swell  the  future  harvest  of  the  field. 
Begin  ;  this  charge  the  dying  Daphne  gave, 
And  said,  "  Ye  shepherds,  sing  around  my  grave  1" 
Sing,  while  beside  the  shaded  tomb  I  mourn, 
And  with  fresh  bays  her  rural  shrine  adorn. 

IHYRSIS. 

Ye  gentle  Muses,  leave  your  crystal  spring, 
Let  nymphs  and  silvaus  cypress  garlands  bring  ; 
Ye  weeping  Loves,  the  stream  with  myrtles  hide, 
And  break  your  bows,  as  when  Adonis  died  ; 
And  with  your  golden  darts,  now  useless  grown, 
Inscribe  a  verse  on  this  relenting  stone : 
"  Let  nature  change,  let  heaven  and  earth  deplore, 
u  Fair  Daphne's  dead,  and  love  is  now  no  more  !" 

Tis  done,  and  nature's  various  charms  decay, 
See  gloomy  clouds  obscure  the  cheerful  day  ! 
Now  hung  with  pearls  the  dropping  trees  appear, 
Their  faded  honours  scatter'd  on  her  bier. 
See,  where  on  earth  the  flowery  glories  lie, 
With  her  they  flourish 'd,  and  with  her  they  die. 
Ah  what  avail  the  beauties  nature  wore  ? 
Fair  Daphne's  dead,  and  beauty  is  no  more  ! 

For  her  the  flocks  refuse  their  verdant  food, 
The  thirsty  heifers  shun  the  gliding  flood, 
The  silver  swans  her  hapless  fate  bemoan, 
In  notes  more  sad  than  when  they  sing  their  own ; 
In  hollow  caves  sweet  echo  silent  lies, 
Silent,  or  only  to  her  name  replies ; 
Her  name  with  pleasure  once  she  taught  the  shore, 
Now  Daphne's  dead,  and  pleasure  is  no  more ! 

No  grateful  dews  descend  from  evening  skies, 
Nor  morning  odours  from  the  flowers  arise ; 
No  rich  perfumes  refresh  the  fruitful  field, 
Nor  fragrant  herbs  their  native  incense  yield. 
The  balmy  zephyrs,  silent  since  her  death, 
Lament  the  ceasing  of  a  sweeter  breath ; 


22  PASTORALS. 

The  industrious  bees  neglect  their  golden  store ! 
Fair  Daphne's  dead,  and  sweetness  is  no  more ! 

No  more  the  mounting  larks,  while  Daphne  sings, 
Shall,  listening  in  mid-air,  suspend  their  wings ; 
No  more  the  birds  shall  imitate  her  lays, 
Or,  hush'd  with  wonder,  hearken  from  the  spraya : 
No  more  the  streams  their  murmurs  shall  forbear, 
A  sweeter  music  than  their  own  to  hear; 
But  tell  the  reeds,  and  tell  the  vocal  shore, 
Fair  Daphne's  dead,  and  music  is  no  more ! 

Her  fate  is  whisper'd  by  the  gentle  breeze, 
And  told  in  sighs  to  all  the  trembling  trees  ; 
The  trembling  trees,  in  every  plain  and  wood, 
Her  fate  remurmur  to  the  silver  flood ; 
The  silver  flood,  so  lately  calm  appears 
Swell'd  with  new  passion,  and  o'erflows  with  tears; 
The  winds,  and  trees,  and  floods,  her  death  deplore, 
Daphne,  our  grief !  our  glory  now  no  more ! 

But  see  !  where  Daphne,  wondering,  mounts  on  high 
Above  the  clouds,  above  the  starry  sky ! 
Eternal  beauties  grace  the  shining  scene, 
Fields  ever  fresh,  and  groves  for  ever  green  ! 
There,  while  you  rest  in  amaranthine  bowers, 
Or  from  those  meads  select  unfading  flowers, 
Behold  us  kindly,  who  your  name  implore, 
Daphne,  our  goddess,  and  our  grief  no  more  ! 
LYCIDAS. 

How  all  things  listen  while  thy  muse  complains ! 
Such  silence  waits  on  Philomela's  strains, 
In  some  still  evening,  when  the  whispering  breeze 
Pants  on  the  leaves,  and  dies  upon  the  trees. 
To  thee,  bright  goddess,  oft  a  lamb  shall  bleed, 
If  teeming  ewes  increase  my  fleecy  breed. 
While  plants  their  shade,  or  flowers  their  odours  give, 
Thy  name,  thy  honour,  and  thy  praise  shall  live ! 

THYRSIS. 

But  see,  Orion  sheds  unwholesome  dews; 
Arise  !  the  pines  a  noxious  shade  diffuse  ; 
Sharp  Boreas  blows,  and  nature  feels  decay, 
Time  conquers  all,  and  we  must  Time  obey. 
Adieu,  ye  vales,  ye  mountains,  streams,  and  groves, 
Adieu,  ye  shepherds'  rural  lays  and  loves; 
Adieu,  my  flocks;  farewell,  ye  silvan  crew; 
Daphne,  farewell ;  and  all  the  world  adieu  ! 


23 


MESSIAH, 


SACRED    ECLOGUE: 
IN  IMITATION  OF 


IN  reading  several  passages  of  the  prophet  Isaiah,  which  foretell  the 
coming  of  Christ  and  the  felicities  attending  it,  I  could  not  but  observe 
a  remarkable  parity  between  many  of  the  thoughts,  and  those  in  the 
1'ollio  of  Virgil.  This  will  not  seem  surprising,  when  we  reflect  that  the 
eclogue  was  taken  from  a  Sibylline  prophecy  on  the  same  subject.  One 
may  judge  that  Virgil  did  not  copy  it  line  by  line,  but  selected  such 
ideas  as  best  agreed  with  the  nature  of  pastoral  poetry,  and  disposed 
them  in  that  manner  which  served  most  to  beautify  his  piece.  I  have 
endeavoured  the  same  in  this  imitation  of  him,  though  without  admitting 
anything  of  my  own  ;  since  it  was  written  with  this  particular  view,  that 
the  reader,  by  comparing  the  several  thoughts,  might  see  how  far  the 
images  and  descriptions  of  the  Prophet  are  superior  to  those  of  the 
1'oet.  But  as  I  fear  I  have  prejudiced  them  by  my  management,  I 
subjoin  the  passages  of  Isaiah,  and  those  of  Virgil,  under  the  same  dis- 
advantage of  a  literal  translation. 

"  Now  the  Virgin  return*,  now  the  kingdom  of  Saturn  returns,  now  a 
new  progeny  it  tent  down  from  high  heaven.  By  meant  of  thee,  whatever 
religuet  of  our  crime*  remain  thalt  be  wiped  away,  and  free  the  world  from 
perpetualfears.  lie  thall  govern  the  earth  in  peace,  with  the  virtus  oj  hit 
faUier."  —  VlKCIL,  Eel.  iv. 

"  Behold,  a  Virgin  thall  conceive  and  bear  a  ton."—  Isaiah,  ch.  vii. 
"  Unto  ut  a  Child  it  born,  unto  ut  a  Son  it  given;  the  Prince  of  Peace; 
of  the  increase  of  hit  government,  and  of  hit  peace,  there  thall  lie  no  end. 
Upon  the  throne  of  Darid,  and  upon  hit  kingdom,  to  order  and  to  establish 
it  with  Judgment,  and  with  juttice,  for  ever  and  ever."  —  Ch.  be. 

"  For  thee,  O  Child,  thall  the  earth,  without  being  tilled,  produce  her  early 
offering*;  winding  iry,  mixed  with  Kaccar,  and  Colocasia,  with  smiling 
Acanthus.  Thy  cradle  thall  your  forfa  pleating  Jlowert  about  thee."  — 
Eel.  iv. 

"  The  wilderneu  and  the  tolitary  place  thall  be  glad,  and  the  desert  thall 
rejoice,  and  blottom  at  the  rote."  —  Isaiah,  ch.  xxxv.  "  The  glory  of  Lebanon 
thall  come  unto  thee,  the  fir-tree,  the  pine-tree,  and  the  box  together,  to 
beautify  the  place  of  my  sanctuary."  —  Ch.  be. 

"  Oh  come  and  receive  the  mighty  honourt;  the  time  draw*  nigh,  O 
belated  offspring  of  the  Godt,  0  great  increaie  of  Jove  !  The  uncultivated 
Mountain*  tend  thoutt  of  joy  to  t/te  ttan,  the  very  rockt  ting  in  eerie,  the 
very  shrub*  cry  out,  A  God,  a  God  I"  —  Eel.  iv. 

"  The  voice  of  him  tliat  crieth  in  Vie  wilderness.  Prepare  ye  the  way  of 
the  Lord!  make  straight  in  the  deseit  a  high  way  for  our  God!  Every 
valley  tftall  be  exalted,  and  every  Mountain  and  hill  thall  be  made  low,  and 
the  crooked  shall  be  marie  straight,  and  the  rough  placet  plain."—  Isaiah. 


24  MESSIAH. 

Ch.  xl.  "  Break  forth  into  singing,  ye  mountains  !  0  foreit,  and  every  tret 
therein  !  for  the  Lord  hath,  redeemed  Israel."— Ch.  iv. 

"  The  fields  shall  grow  yellow  with  ripened  ears,  and  the  red  grape  shall 
Jiang  upon  the  wild  brambles,  and  the  hard  oak  shall  distil  honey  like  dew." 
—Eel.  iv. 

"  The  parched  ground  shall  become  a  pool,  and  the  thirsty  land  spring!  of 
water.  In  the  habitation  where  dragons  lay  shall  be  grass,  and  reeds,  and 
rushes." — Isaiah,  ch.  xxxv.  "  Instead  of  the  thorn  shall  come  up  the  fir- 
tree,  and  instead  of  the  brier  shall  come  up  the  myrtle-tree." — Ch.  Iv. 

"  The  goati  shall  bear  to  the  fold  their  udders  distended  with  milk;  nor 
thall  the  Jicrds  be  afraid  of  the.  greatest  linns.  The  serpent  shall  die,  and  the 
herb  that  conceals  poison  shall  die." — Eel.  iv. 

"  The  wolf  shall  dwell  with  the  lamb,  and  the  leopard  shall  lie  down  with 
the  kid,  and  the  calf,  and  the  young  lion,  and  the  falling  together;  and  a 
little  child  shall  lead  them. — And  the  lion  shall  eat  straw  like  the  ox.  And 
the  sucking  child  shall  play  on  the  hole  of  the  asp,  and  the  weaned  child  shall 
put  his  hand  on  the  den  of  the  cockatrice." — Isaiah,  ch.  xi. 

YE  nymphs  of  Solyma  !  begin  the  song : 
To  heavenly  themes  sublimer  strains  belong. 
The  mossy  fountains,  and  the  silvan  shades, 
The  dreams  of  Pindus  and  the  Aonian  maids, 
Delight  no  more — O  Thou  my  voice  inspire 
Who  touched  Isaiah's  hallowed  lips  with  fire ! 

Eapt  into  future  times,  the  bard  begun  : 
A  Virgin  shall  conceive,  a  Virgin  bear  a  Son! 
From  Jesse's  root  behold  a  branch  arise, 
"Whose  sacred  flower  with  fragrance  fills  the  skies: 
The  ethereal  spirit  o'er  its  leaves  shall  move, 
And  on  its  top  descends  the  mystic  dove. 
Ye  heavens  !  from  high  the  dewy  nectar  pour, 
And  in  soft  silence  shed  the  kindly  shower ! 
The  sick  and  weak  the  healing  plant  shall  aid, 
From  storms  a  shelter,  and  from  heat  a  shade. 
All  crimes  shall  cease,  and  ancient  fraud  shall  failj 
Returning  Justice  lift  aloft  her  scale ; 
Peace  o'er  the  world  her  olive  wand  extend, 
And  white-robed  Innocence  from  heaven  descend. 
Swift  fly  the  years,  and  rise  the  expected  morn! 
Oh  spring  to  light,  auspicious  Babe,  be  born  ! 
See  Nature  hastes  her  earliest  wreaths  to  bring, 
With  all  the  incense  of  the  breathing  spring: 
See  lofty  Lebanon  his  head  advance, 
See  nodding  forests  on  the  mountains  dance : 
See  spicy  clouds  from  lowly  Saron  rise, 
And  Carmel's  flowery  top  perfumes  the  skies ! 


25 


Hark !  a  glad  voice  the  lonely  desert  cheere; 
Prepare  the  way !  a  God,  a  God  appears: 
A  God,  a  God !  the  vocal  hills  reply, 
The  rocks  proclaim  the  approaching  Deity. 
Lo,  earth  receives  him  from  the  bending  skies ! 
Sink  down,  ye  mountains,  and,  ye  valleys,  rise ; 
With  heads  declined,  ye  cedars,  homage  pay; 
Be  smooth,  ye  rocks;  ye  rapid  floods,  give  way; 
The  Saviour  comes !  by  ancient  bards  foretold! 
Hear  him,  ye  deaf,  and  all  ye  blind,  behold  ! 
He  from  thick  films  shall  purge  the  visual  ray, 
And  on  the  sightless  eyeball  pour  the  day: 
Tis  he  the  obstructed  paths  of  sound  shall  clear, 
And  bid  new  music  charm  the  unfolding  ear : 
The  dumb  shall  sing,  the  lame  his  crutch  forego, 
And  leap  exulting  like  the  bounding  roe. 
No  sigh,  no  murmur  the  wide  world  shall  hear, 
From  every  face  he  wipes  off  every  tear. 
In  adamantine  chains  shall  Death  be  bound, 
And  Hell's  grim  tyrant  feel  the  eternal  wound. 
As  the  good  shepherd  tends  his  fleecy  care, 
Seeks  freshest  pasture  and  the  purest  air. 
Explores  the  lost,  the  wandering  sheep  directs, 
By  day  o'ersew  them,  and  by  night  protects, 
The  tender  lambs  he  raises  in  his  arms, 
Feeds  from  his  hand,  and  in  his  bosom  warms  ; 
Thus  shall  mankind  his  guardian  care  engage, 
The  promised  Father  of  the  future  age. 
No  more  shall  nation  against  nation  rise, 
Nor  ardent  warriors  meet  with  hateful  eyes, 
Nor  fields  with  gleaming  steel  be  covered  o'er, 
The  brazen  trumpets  kindle  rage  no  more ; 
But  useless  lances  into  scythes  shall  bend, 
And  the  broad  falchion  in  a  ploughshare  end. 
Then  palaces  shall  rise ;  the  joyful  son 
Shall  finish  what  his  short-lived  sire  begun ; 
Their  vines  a  shadow  to  their  race  shall  yield, 
And  the  same  hand  that  sow'd,  shall  reap  the  field, 
The  swain,  in  barren  deserts  with  surprise 
See  lilies  spring,  and  sudden  verdure  rise  ; 
And  start,  amidst  the  thirsty  wilds,  to  hear 
New  falls  of  water  murmuring  in  his  ear. 
On  rifted  rocks,  the  dragon's  late  abodes, 
The  green  reed  trembles,  and  the  bulrush  nodi. 


Waste  sandy  valleys,  once  perplex'd  with  thorn, 

The  spiry  fir  and  shapely  box  adorn  ; 

To  leafless  shrubs  the  flowering  palms  succeed, 

And  odorous  myrtle  to  the  noisome  weed. 

The  lambs  with  wolves  shall  graze  the  verdant  mead, 

And  boys  in  flowery  bauds  the  tiger  lead ; 

The  steer  and  lion  at  one  crib  shall  meet, 

And  harmless  serpents  lick  the  pilgrim's  feet. 

The  smiling  infant  in  his  hand  shall  take 

The  crested  basilisk  and  speckled  snake, 

Pleased  the  green  lustre  of  the  scales  survey, 

And  with  their  forky  tongue  shall  innocently  play. 

Bise,  crown'd  with  light,  imperial  Salem,  rise  I1 

Exalt  thy  towery  head,  and  lift  thy  eyes ! 

See,  a  long  race  thy  spacious  courts  adorn; 

See  future  sons,  and  daughters  yet  unborn, 

In  crowding  ranks  on  every  side  arise, 

Demanding  life,  impatient  for  the  skies  ! 

See  barbarous  nations  at  thy  gates  attend, 

Walk  in  thy  light,  and  in  thy  temple  bend ; 

See  thy  bright  altars  throng'd  with  prostrate  kings, 

And  heap'd  with  products  of  Sabean  springs, 

For  thee  Idume's  spicy  forests  blow, 

And  seeds  of  gold  in  Ophir's  mountains  glow. 

See  heaven  its  sparkling  portals  wide  display, 

And  break  upon  thee  in  a  flood  of  day. 

No  more  the  rising  sun  shall  gild  the  morn, 

Nor  evening  Cynthia  fill  her  silver  horn; 

But  lost,  dissolved  in  thy  superior  rays, 

One  tide  of  glory,  one  unclouded  blaze 

O'erflow  thy  courts ;  the  Light  himself  shall  shine 

Eeveal'd,  and  God's  eternal  day  be  thine  ! 

The  seas  shall  waste,  the  skies  in  smoke  decay, 

Rocks  fall  to  dust,  and  mountains  melt  away ; 

But  fix'd  his  word,  his  saving  power  remains; 

Thy  realm  for  ever  lasts,  thy  own  MESSIAH  reigns ! 

1  The  thoughts  of  Isaiah,  which  compose  the  latter  part  of  the  poem, 
are  wonderfully  elevated,  and  much  above  those  general  exclamation! 
of  Virgil,  which  make  the  loftiest  parts  of  his  Pollio. 


p.  26. 


li<>j>  in  llowerj  bands  Hie  tiger  Jea<l. 


p.  27. 


Thy  i'orest.,  Windsor!    anrt  tby  srrren  rctroals, 
At  once  Uie  Monarch's'  arid  the  Muses'  seals. 


27 


WINDSOR    F QUEST. 

TO  THE    RIGHT  HONOURABLE 

QEOKGE    LORD    LANSDOWN. 

This  poem  was  written  at  two  different  times :  the  first  part  of  it, 
which  relates  to  the  country,  in  the  year  1704,  at  the  same  time  with 
the  Pastorals ;  the  latter  part  wad  not  added  till  the  year  17 1 3,  in  which 
it  was  published. 

THY  forest,  Windsor,  and  thy  green  retreats, 
At  once  the  monarch's  and  the  Muses'  seats, 
Invite  my  lays.    Be  present,  silvan  maids  ! 
Unlock  your  springs,  and  open  all  your  shades. 
GRANVILLE  commands  ;  your  aid,  O  muses,  bring ! 
What  muse  for  GRANVILLE  can  refuse  to  sing  1 

The  groves  of  Eden,  vanish'd  now  so  long, 
Live  in  description,  and  look  green  in  song ; 
These,  were  my  breast  inspired  with  equal  flame, 
Like  them  in  beauty,  should  be  like  in  fame. 
Here  hills  and  vales,  the  woodland  and  the  plain, 
Here  earth  and  water  seem  to  strive  again ; 
Not  chaos-like,  together  crush 'd  and  bruised, 
But,  as  the  world,  harmoniously  confused ; 
Where  order  in  variety  we  see, 
And  where,  though  all  things  differ,  all  agree. 
Here  waving  groves  a  chequer'd  scene  display, 
And  part  admit,  and  part  exclude  the  day ; 
As  some  coy  nymph  her  lover's  warm  address 
Nor  quite  indulges,  nor  can  quite  repress. 
There,  interspersed  in  lawns  and  opening  glades, 
Thin  trees  arise  that  shun  each  other's  shades. 
Here  in  full  light  the  russet  plains  extend ; 
There,  wrapt  in  clouds,  the  bluish  hills  ascend. 
Even  the  wild  heath  displays  her  purple  dyes, 
And  midst  the  desert  fruitful  fields  arise, 
That  crown'd  with  tufted  trees  and  springing  corn, 
Like  verdant  isles  the  sable  waste  adorn. 
Let  India  boast  her  plants,  nor  envy  we 
The  weeping-amber,  or  the  balmy-tree, 
While  by  our  oaks  the  precious  loads  are  borne, 
And  realms  commanded  which  those  trees  adorn. 
Not  proud  Olympus  yields  a  nobler  sight, 
Though  gods  assembled  grace  his  towering  height, 


28  WINDSOR   FOKEST. 

Than  what  more  humble  mountains  offer  here, 
Where,  in  their  blessings,  all  those  gods  appear. 
See  Pan  with  flocks,  with  fruits  Pomona  crown'd, 
Here  blushing  Flora  paints  the  enamelled  ground, 
Here  Ceres'  gifts  in  waving  prospect  stand, 
And,  nodding,  tempt  the  joyful  reaper's  hand; 
Rich  Industry  sits  smiling  on  the  plains, 
And  peace  and  plenty  tell,  a  STUART  reigns. 

Not  thus  the  land  appear'd  in  ages  past, 
A  dreary  desert,  and  a  gloomy  waste, 
To  savage  beasts  and  savage  laws  a  prey, 
And  kings  more  furious  and  severe  than  they; 
Who  claim'd  the  skies,  dispeopled  air  and  floods, 
The  lonely  lords  of  empty  wilds  and  woods : 
Cities  laid  waste,  they  storm'd  the  dens  and  caves, 
(For  wiser  brutes  were  backward  to  be  slaves :) 
What  could  be  free  when  lawless  beasts  obey'd. 
And  even  the  elements  a  tyrant  sway'd  ? 
In  vain  kind  seasons  swell'd  the  teeming  grain, 
Soft  showers  distill'd,  and  suns  grew  warm  in  vain; 
The  swain  with  tears  his  frustrate  labour  yields, 
And  famish'd  dies  amidst  his  ripen'd  fields. 
What  wonder  then,  a  beast  or  subject  slain 
Were  equal  crimes  in  a  despotic  reign  1 
Both  doom'd  alike,  for  sportive  tyrants  bled, 
But  while  the  subject  starved,  the  beast  was  fed. 
Proud  Nimrod  first  the  bloody  chase  began, 
A  mighty  hunter,  and  his  prey  was  man : 
Our  haughty  Norman  boasts  that  barbarous  name, 
And  makes  his  trembling  slaves  the  royal  game. 
The  fields  are  ravish'd1  from  the  industrious  swains, 
From  men  their  cities,  and  from  gods  their  fanes : 
The  levelled  towns  with  weeds  lie  covered  o'er ; 
The  hollow  winds  through  naked  temples  roar; 
Eound  broken  columns  clasping  ivy  twined; 
O'er  heaps  of  ruin  stalk'd  the  stately  hind; 
The  fox  obscene  to  gaping  tombs  retires, 
And  savage  howlings  fill  the  sacred  quires. 
Awed  by  his  nobles,  by  his  commons  curst, 
The  oppressor  ruled  tyrannic  where  he  durst, 
Stretch'd  o'er  the  poor  and  church  his  iron  rod, 
And  served  alike  his  vassals  and  his  God. 

Alluding  to  the  destruction  made  in  the  New  Forest  by  William  L 


WINDSOR   FOREST.  29 

Whom  even  the  Saxon  spared,  and  bloody  Dane, 
The  wanton  victims  of  his  sport  remain. 
But  see,  the  man,  who  spacious  regions  gave 
A  waste  for  beasts,  himself  denied  a  grave ! 
Stretch'd  on  the  lawn  his  second  hope  survey, 
At  once  the  chaser,  and  at  once  the  prey : 
Lo,  Rufus,  tugging  at  the  deadly  dart, 
Bleeds  in  the  forest  like  a  wounded  bart. 
Succeeding  monarchs  heard  the  subjects'  cries, 
Nor  saw  displeased  the  peaceful  cottage  rise : 
Then  gathering  flocks  on  unknown  mountains  fed, 
O'er  sandy  wilds  were  yellow  harvests  spread, 
The  forest  wondered  at  the  unusual  grain, 
And  secret  transports  touch'd  the  conscious  swain. 
Fair  Liberty,  Britannia's  Goddess,  rears 
Her  cheerful  head,  and  leads  the  golden  years. 

Ye  vigorous  swains !  while  youth  ferments  your 
And  purer  spirits  swell  the  sprightly  flood,       [blood, 
Now  range  the  hills,  the  gameful  woods  beset, 
Wind  the  shrill  horn,  or  spread  the  waving  net. 
When  milder  autumn  summer's  heat  succeeds, 
And  in  the  new-shorn  field  the  partridge  feeds, 
Before  his  lord  the  ready  spaniel  bounds, 
Panting  with  hope,  he  tries  the  furrow'd  grounds ; 
But  when  the  tainted  gales  the  game  betray, 
Couch'd  close  he  lies,  and  meditates  the  prey; 
Secure  they  trust  the  unfaithful  field  beset, 
Till  hovering  o'er  them  sweeps  the  swelling  net. 
Thus  (if  small  things  we  may  with  great  compare) 
When  Albion  sends  her  eager  sons  to  war, 
Some  thoughtless  town,  with  ease  and  plenty  blest, 
Near,  and  more  near,  the  closing  lines  invest ; 
Sudden  they  seize  the  amazed  defenceless  prize, 
And  high  in  air  Britannia's  standard  flies. 

See  from  the  brake  the  whirring  pheasant  springs, 
And  mounts  exulting  on  triumphant  wings: 
Short  is  his  joy;  he  feels  the  fiery  wound, 
Flutters  in  blood,  and  panting  beats  the  ground. 
Ah  !  what  avail  his  glossy,  varying  dyes, 
His  purple  crest,  and  scarlet-circled  eyes, 
The  vivid  green  his  shining  plumes  unfold, 
His  painted  wings,  and  breast  that  flames  with  gold  ? 

Nor  yet,  when  moist  Arcturus  clouds  the  sky, 
The  woods  and  fields  their  pleasing  toils  deny. 


30  WINDSOR   FOREST. 

To  plains  with  well-breathed  beagles  we  repair, 
And  trace  the  mazes  01  the  circling  hare: 
(Beasts,  urged  by  us,  their  fellow  beasts  pursue, 
And  learn  ot  man  each  other  to  undo.) 
With  slaughtering  guns  the  unwearied  fowler  rovea, 
Wh  11  frosts  have  whitened  all  the  naked  groves; 
Where  doves  in  flocks  the  leaflets  trees  o'ur.shade, 
And  lonely  woodcocks  haunt  the  watery  glade 
He  lifts  the  tube,  and  levels  with  his  eye; 
Straight  a  short  thunder  breaks  the  frozen  sky: 
Oft,  as  in  airy  rings  they  skim  the  heath, 
The  clamorous  lapwings  feel  the  leaden  death : 
Oft,  as  the  mounting  larks  their  notes  prepare, 
They  fall,  and  leave  their  little  lives  in  air. 

In  genial  spring,  beneath  the  quivering  shade, 
Where  cooling  vapours  breathe  along  the  mead, 
The  patient  fisher  takes  his  silent  stand, 
Intent,  his  angle  trembling  in  his  hand ; 
With  looks  unmoved,  he  hopes  the  scaly  breed, 
And  eyes  the  dancing  cork  and  bending  reed. 
Our  plenteous  streams  a  various  race  supply, 
The  bright-eyed  perch,  with  fins  of  Tyrian  dye, 
The  silver  eel,  in  shining  volumes  roll'd, 
The  yellow  carp,  in  scales  bedropp'd  with  gold, 
Swift  trouts,  diversified  with  crimson  stains, 
And  pikes,  the  tyrants  of  the  watery  plains. 

Now  Cancer  glows  with  Phoebus'  fiery  car: 
The  youth  rush  eager  to  the  silvan  war, 
Swarm  o'er  the  lawns,  the  forest  walks  surround, 
Rouse  the  fleet  hart,  and  cheer  the  opening  hound. 
The  impatient  courser  pants  in  every  vein, 
And  pawing,  seems  to  beat  the  distant  plain : 
Hills,  vales,  and  floods,  appear  already  cross'd, 
And  ere  he  starts,  a  thousand  steps  are  lost. 
See  the  bold  youth  strain  up  the  threatening  steep, 
Rush  through  the  thickets,  down  the  valleys  sweep, 
Hang  o'er  their  coursers'  heads  with  eager  speed, 
And  earth  rolls  back  beneath  the  flying  steed. 
Let  old  Arcadia  boast  her  ample  plain, 
The  immortal  huntress,  and  her  virgin-train ; 
Nor  envy,  Windsor,  since  thy  shades  have  seen 
As  bright  a  goddess,  and  as  chaste  a  queen ; 
Whose  care  like  hers,  protects  the  silvan  reign, 
The  earth's  fair  light,  and  empress  of  the  main. 


WINDSOR   FOREST.  31 

Here  too,  'tis  sung,  of  old  Diana  stray'd, 
And  Cynthus'  top  forsook  for  Windsor  shade  j 
Here  was  she  seen  o'er  airy  wastes  to  rove, 
Seek  the  clear  spring,  or  haunt  the  pathless  grove; 
Here  arm'd  with  silver  bows,  in  early  dawn, 
Her  buskhiM  virgins  traced  tlie  dewy  lawn. 

Above  the  rest  a  rural  nymph  wa-.  famed, 
Thy  offspring,  Thames !  tin-  fair  L<»  iuua  named, 
(Lodoua  s  fate,  in  long  oblivion  cast, 
The  Muso  shall  sing,  and  what  she  sings  shall  last.) 
Scarce  could  the  goddess  from  her  nymph  be  known, 
But  by  the  crescent  and  the  golden  zone. 
She  scorn'd  the  praise  of  beauty,  and  the  care ; 
A  belt  her  waist,  a  fillet  binds  her  hair; 
A  painted  quiver  on  her  shoulder  sounds, 
And  with  her  dart  the  flying  deer  she  wounds. 
It  chanced,  as  eager  of  the  chase,  the  maid 
Beyond  the  forest's  verdant  limits  stray'd, 
Pan  saw  and  loved,  and  burning  with  desire 
Pursued  her  flight,  her  flight  increased  his  fire. 
Not  half  RO  swift  the  trembling  doves  can  fly, 
When  the  fierce  eagle  cleaves  the  liquid  sky ; 
Not  half  so  swiftly  the  fierce  eagle  moves,        [doves; 
When  through  the  clouds  he  drives  the  trembling 
As  from  the  god  she  flew  with  furious  pace, 
Or  as  the  god,  more  furious,  urged  the  chase, 
Now  fainting,  sinking,  pale,  the  nymph  appears; 
Now  close  behind  his  sounding  steps  she  hears; 
And  now  his  shadow  reach 'd  her  as  she  run, 
His  shadow  lengtheu'd  by  the  setting  sun ; 
And  now  his  snorter  breath  with  sultry  air, 
Pauta  on  her  neck,  and  fans  her  parting  hair. 
In  vain  on  Father  Thames  she  calls  for  aid, 
Nor  could  Diana  help  her  injured  maid. 
Faint,  breathless,  thus  she  pray'd,  nor  pray'd  in  vain  • 
"Ah  Cynthia!  all — though  buuish'd  from  thy  train, 
Let  me,  O  let  me,  to  the  shades  repair, 
My  native  shades — there  weep  and  murmur  there." 
She  said,  and  melting  as  in  tears  she  lay, 
In  a  soft  silver  stream  dissolved  away. 
The  silver  stream  her  virgin  coldness  keeps, 
For  ever  murmurs,  and  for  ever  weeps ; 
Still  bears  the  name  the  hapless  virgin  bore, 
And  bathes  the  forest  where  she  ranged  before. 


32  WINDSOR  FOKEST. 

In  her  chaste  current  oft  the  goddess  laves, 

And  with  celestial  tears  augments  the  waves. 

Oft  in  her  glass  the  musing  shepherd  spies 

The  headlong  mountains  and  the  downward  skies, 

The  watery  landscape  of  the  pendant  woods, 

And  absent  trees  that  tremble  in  the  floods; 

In  the  clear  azure  gleam  the  flocks  are  seen, 

And  floating  forests  paint  the  waves  with  green, 

Through  the  fair  scene  roll  slow  the  lingering  streams, 

Then  foaming  pour  along,  and  rush  into  the  Thames. 

Thou,  too,  great  father  of  the  British  floods ! 
"With  joyful  pride  survey'st  our  lofty  woods ; 
Where  towering  oaks  their  growing  honours  rear, 
And  future  navies  on  thy  shores  appear. 
Not  Neptune's  self  from  all  her  streams  receives 
A  wealthier  tribute  than  to  thine  he  gives. 
No  seas  so  rich,  so  gay  no  banks  appear, 
No  lake  so  gentle,  and  no  spring  so  clear. 

•  Nor  Po  so  swells  the  fabling  poet's  lays, 
While  led  along  the  skies  his  current  strays, 
As  thine,  which  visits  Windsor's  famed  abodes, 

•  To  grace  the  mansion  of  our  earthly  gods: 
Nor  all  his  stars  above  a  lustre  show, 

Like  the  bright  beauties  on  thy  banks  below ; 
Where  Jove,  subdued  by  mortal  passion  still, 
Might  change  Olympus  for  a  nobler  hill. 

Happy  the  man  whom  this  bright  court  approves, 
His  sovereign  favours,  and  his  country  loves: 
Happy  next  him,  who  to  these  shades  retires, 
Whom  nature  charms,  and  whom  the  Muse  inspires: 
Whom  humbler  joys  of  home-felt  quiet  please, 
Successive  study,  exercise,  and  ease. 
He  gathers  health  from  herbs  the  forest  yields, 
And  of  their  fragrant  physic  spoils  the  fields: 
With  chemic  art  exalts  the  mineral  powers, 
And  draws  the  aromatic  souls  of  flowers: 
Now  marks  the  course  of  rolling  orbs  on  high ; 
O'er  figured  worlds  now  travels  with  his  eye; 
Of  ancient  writ  unlocks  the  learned  store, 
Consults  the  dead,  and  lives  past  ages  o'er: 
Or  wandering  thoughtful  in  the  silent  wood, 
Attends  the  duties  of  the  wise  and  good, 
To  observe  a  mean,  be  to  himself  a  friend, 
To  follow  nature,  and  regard  his  end ; 


WINDSOR   FOKEST.  33 

Or  looks  on  heaven  with  more  than  mortal  eyes, 
Bids  his  free  soul  expatiate  in  the  skies, 
Amid  her  kindred  stars  familiar  roam, 
Survey  the  region,  and  confess  her  home ! 
Such  was  the  life  great  Scipio  once  admired, 
Thus  Atticus,  and  TRU^PAL  thus  retired. 

Ye  sacred  Nine!  that  all  my  soul  possess, 
Whose  raptures  fire  me,  and  whose  visions  blesa, 
Bear  me,  oh  be?r  me  to  sequester'd  scenes, 
The  bowery  mazes,  and  surrounding  greens; 
To  Thames's  banks  which  fragrant  oreezes  fill, 
Or  where  ye  Muses  sport  on  Cooper's  Hill. 
(On  Cooper's  Hill  eternal  wreaths  shall  grow 
While  lasts  the  mountain,  or  while  Thames  shall  flow.) 
I  seem  through  consecrated  walks  to  rove, 
I  hear  soft  music  die  along  the  grove : 
Led  by  the  sound,  I  roam  from  shade  to  shade, 
By  godlike  poets  venerable  made; 
Here  his  first  lays  majestic  DENHAM  sung: 
There  the  last  numbers  flow'd  from  COWLEY'S'  tongue. 
O  early  lost !  what  tears  the  river  shed, 
When  the  sad  pomp  along  his  banks  was  led ! 
His  drooping  swans  on  every  note  expire, 
And  on  his  willows  hung  each  Muse's  lyre. 

Since  fate  relentless  stopp'd  their  heavenly  voice, 
No  more  the  forests  ring,  or  groves  rejoice ; 
Who  now  shall  charm  the  shades,  where  COWLEY strung 
His  living  harp,  and  lofty  DENHAM  sung? 
But  hark !  the  groves  rejoice,  the  forest  rings ! 
Are  these  revived?  or  is  it  GRANVILLE  sings! 
'Tis  yours,  my  Lord,  to  bless  our  soft  retreats, 
And  call  the  Muses  to  their  ancient  seats ; 
To  paint  anew  the  flowery  silvan  scenes, 
To  crown  the  forest  with  immortal  greens, 
Make  Windsor-hills  in  lofty  numbers  rise, 
And  lift  her  turrets  nearer  to  the  skies ; 
To  sing  those  honours  you  deserve  to  wear, 
And  add  new  lustre  to  her  silver  star. 

Here  noble  SURREY*  felt  the  sacred  rage, 
SURREY,  the  GRANVILLE  of  a  former  age ; 

1  Mr.  Cowley  died  at  Chertsey,  on  the  borders  of  the  forest,  and  wa« 
from  thence  conveyed  to  Westminster. 

8  Henry  Howard,  Earl  of  Surrey,  one  of  the  first  refiners  of  the  English 
poetry,  who  flourished  in  the  time  of  Henry  VIII. 


34  WINDSOR   FOREST. 

Matchless  liis-pen,  victorious  was  his  lance, 
Bold  in  the  lists,  and  graceful  in  the  dance : 
In  the  same  shades  the  Cupids  tuned  his  lyre^ 
To  the  same  notes,  of  love,  and  soft  desire : 
Fair  Geraldine,  bright  object  of  his  vow, 
Then  fill'd  the  groves,  asJieavenly  Mira  now. 

Oh  would'st  thou  sing^-hut  heroes  Windsor  bore, 
What  kings  first  breathed  upon  her  winding  shore, 
Or  raise  old  warriors,  whose  adored  remains 

With  Edward's1  acts  adorn  the  shining  page, 

Stretch  his  long  triumphs  down  through  every  age, 

Draw  monarchs  chain'd,  and  Crecy's  glorious  field, 

The  lilies  blazing  on  the  regal  shield : 

Then,  from  her  roofs  when  Verrio's  colours  fall, 

And  leave  inanimate  the  naked  wall, 

Still  in  thy  song  should  vanquish'd  France  appear, 

And  bleed  for  ever  under  Britain's  spear. 

Let  softer  strains  ill-fated  Henry2  mourn, 
And  palms  eternal  flourish  round  his  urn. 
Here  o'er  the  Martyr-King  the  marble  weeps, 
And,  fast  beside  him,  once-fear'd  Edward3  sleeps: 
Whom  not  the  extended  Albion  could  contain, 
From  old  Belerium  to  the  northern  main, 
The  grave  unites ;  where  e'en  the  great  find  rest, 
And  blended  lie  the  oppressor  and  the  opprest! 

Make  sacred  Charles's  tomb  for  ever  known, 
(Obscure  the  place,  and  uninscribed  the  stone.) 
Oh  fact  accurst!  what  tears  has  Albion  shed, 
Heavens,  what  new  wounds !  and  how  her  old  have 

bled! 

She  saw  her  sons  with  purple  death  expire, 
Her  sacred  domes  involved  in  rolling  fire, 
A  dreadful  series  of  intestine  wars, 
Inglorious  triumphs  and  dishonest  scars. 
At  length  great  ANNA  said — "  Let  discord  cease  !u 
"**       She  said, — the  world  obey'd,  and  all  was  peace ! 

In  that  blest  moment,  from  his  oozy  bed 
Old  father  Thames  advanced  his  reverend  head ; 
His  tresses  dropp'd  with  dews,  and  o'er  the  stream 
His  shining  horns  diffused  a  golden  gleam ; 

1  Edward  III.  was  born  here. 
»  Henry  VI.  3  Edward  IV. 


WINDSOR  FOREST.  35 

Graved  on  his  urn  appear'd  the  moon,  that  guides 
His  swelling  waters,  and  alternate  tides ; 
The  figured  streams  in  waves  of  silver  rolTd, 
And  on  her  banks  Augusta  rose  in  gold. 
Around  his  throne  the  sea-born  brothers  stood, 
Who  swell  with  tributary  urns  his  flood, 
First  the  famed  authors  ot  his  ancient  name, 
The  winding  Isis  and  the  fruitful  Thame: 
The  Kennet  swift,  for  silver  eels  renown'd ; 
The  Loddon  slow,  with  verdant  aiders  crown'd ; 
Cole,  whose  dark  streams  his  flowery  islands  lave; 
And  chalky  Wey,  that  rolls  a  milky  wave; 
The  blue,  transparent  Vandalis  appears; 
The  gulfy  Lee  his  sedgy  tresses  rears ; 
And  sullen  Mole,  that  hides  his  diving  flood ; 
And  silent  Darent,  stain'd  with  Danish  blood. 

High  in  the  midst,  upon  his  urn  reclined 
(His  sea-green  mantle  waving  with  the  wind) 
The  god  appear'd ;  he  turned  his  azure  eyes 
Where  Windsor-domes  and  pompous  turrets  rise ; 
Then  bow'd  and  spoke ;  the  winds  forget  to  roar, 
And  the  hush'd  waves  glide  softly  to  the  shore. 

"  Hail,  sacred  Peace !  hail,  long-expected  days, 
That  Thames's  glory  to  the  stars  shall  raise! 
Though  Tiber's  streams  immortal  Rome  behold, 
Though  foaming  Hermus  swells  with  tides  of  gold, 
From  heaven  itself  though  sevenfold  Nilus  flows, 
And  harvests  on  a  hundred  realms  bestows; 
These  now  no  more  shall  be  the  Muse's  themes, 
Lost  in  my  fame,  as  in  the  sea  their  streams. 
Let  Volga's  banks  with  iron  squadrons  shine, 
And  groves  of  lances  glitter  on  the  Rhine, 
Let  barbarous  Ganges  arm  a  servile  train ; 
Be  mine  the  blessings  of  a  peaceful  reign. 
No  more  my  sons  shall  dye  with  British  blood 
Red  Iber's  sands,  or  Ister's  loan i ing  flood: 
Safe  on  my  shore  each  unmolested  swain 
Shall  tend  the  flocks,  or  reap  the  bearded  grain ; 
The  shady  empire  shall  retain  no  trace 
Of  war  or  blood,  but  in  the  silvan  chase; 
The  trumpet  sleep,  while  cheerful  horns  are  blown, 
And  arms  employ'd  on  bin  is  and  beasts  alone. 
Behold !  the  ascending  viliris  on  my  side 
Project  long  shadows  o'er  tii3  crystal  tide; 


36  WINDSOR    FOREST. 

Behold !  Augusta's  glittering  spires  increase, 
And  temples1  rise,  the  beauteous  works  of  peace. 
•I  see,  I  see,  where  two  fair  cities  bend 
Their  ample  bow,  a  new  Whitehall  ascend ! 
There  mighty  nations  shall  inquire  their  doom, 
The  world's  great  oracle  in  times  to  come ; 
There  kings  shall  sue,  and  suppliant  states  be  seen 
Once  more  to  bend  before  a  BRITISH  QUEEN. 

Thy  trees,  fair  Windsor !  .now  shall  leave  their  woods, 
And  half  thy  forests  rush  into  thy  floods, 
Bear  Britain's  thunder,  and  her  cross  display, 
To  the  bright  regions  of  the  rising  day ; 
Tempt  icy  seas,  where  scarce  the  waters  roll, 
Where  clearer  flames  glow  round  the  frozen  pole ; 
Or  under  southern  skies  exalt  their  sails, 
Led  by  new  stars  and  borne  by  spicy  gales ! 
For  me  the  balm  shall  bleed,  and  amber  flow, 
The  coral  redden,  and  the  ruby  glow, 
The  pearly  shell  its  lucid  globe  infold, 
And  Phoebus  warm  the  ripening  ore  to  gold. 
The  tune  shall  come,  when  free  as  seas  or  wind 
Unbounded  Thames  shall  flow  for  all  mankind ; 
Whole  nations  enter  with  each  swelling  tide, 
And  seas  but  join  the  regions  they  divide ; 
Earth's  distant  ends  our  glory  shall  behold, 
And  the  new  world  launch  forth  to  seek  the  old. 
Then  ships  of  uncouth  form  shall  stem  the  tide, 
And  feather'd  people  crowd  my  wealthy  side, 
And  naked  youths  and  painted  chiefs  admire 
Our  speech,  our  colour,  and  our  strange  attire ! 
Oh  stretch  thy  reign,  fair  Peace !  from  shore  to  shore, 
Till  conquest  cease,  and  slavery  be  no  more ; 
Till  the  freed  Indians  in  their  native  groves 
Eeap  their  own  fruits,  and  woo  their  sable  loves. 
Peru  once  more  a  race  of  kings  behold, 
And  other  Mexicos  be  roof'd  with  gold. 
Exiled  by  thee  from  earth  to  deepest  hell, 
In  brazen  bonds  shall  barbarous  discord  dwell ; 
Gigantic  pride,  pale  terror,  gloomy  care, 
And  mad  ambition,  shall  attend  her  there ; 
There  purple  vengeance,  bathed  in  gore,  retires, 
Her  weapons  blunted,  and  extinct  her  fires; 

l  The  fifty  new  churches. 


ODE  ON  ST.  CECILIA'S  DAT.  37 

There  hated  envy  her  own  snakes  shall  feel, 
And  persecution  mourn  her  broken  wheel; 
There  faction  roar,  rebellion  bite  her  chain, 
And  gasping  furies  thirst  for  blood  in  vain." 

Here  cease  thy  flight,  nor  with  unhallow'd  lays 
Touch  the  fair  fame  of  Albion's  golden  days : 
The  thoughts  of  gods  let  GRANVILLE'S  verse  recite, 
And  bring  the  scenes  of  opening  fete  to  light. 
My  humble  muse,  in  unambitious  strains, 
Paints  the  green  forests  and  the  flowery  plains, 
Where  peace,  descending,  bids  her  olive  spring, 
And  scatters  blessings  from  her  dove-like  wing. 
Even  I  more  sweetly  pass  my  careless  days, 
Pleased  in  the  silent  shade  with  empty  praise ; 
Enough  for  me,  that  to  the  listening  swains 
First  in  these  fields  I  sung  the  silvan  strains. 


ODE   ON  ST.   CECILIA'S  DAY, 

MDCCVm. 

AND  OTHER  PIECES  FOR  MUSIC, 


DESCEND,  ye  Nine!  descend  and  sing; 
The  breathing  instruments  inspire, 
Wake  into  voice  each  silent  string, 
And  sweep  the  sounding  lyre! 


In  a  sadly-pleasing  strain 
Let  the  warbling  lu 


te  complain: 

Let  the  loua  trumpet  sound, 
Till  the  roofs  all  around 
The  shrill  echoes  rebound  ; 
While  in  more  lengthen'd  notes  and  slow, 
The  deep,  majestic,  solemn  organs  blow. 
Hark  !  the  numbers  soft  and  clear 
Gently  steal  upon  the  ear; 
Now  louder,  and  yet  louder  rise, 
And  fill  with  spreading  sounds  the  skies  : 
Exulting  in  triumph  now  swell  the  bold  notes, 
In  broken  air,  trembling,  the  wild  music  floats  ; 


38  ODE  ON  ST.  CECILIA'S  DAY. 

Till,  by  degrees,  remote  and  small, 

The  strains  decay, 

And  melt  away, 
In  a  dying,  dying  fall. 


By  music,  minds  an  equal  temper  knew, 

Nor  swell  too  high,  nor  sink  too  low. 
If  in  the  breast  tumultuous  joys  arise, 
Music  her  soft,  assuasive  voice  applies ; 
Or,  when  the  soul  is  press'd  with  cares, 
Exalts  her  in  enlivening  airs. 
Warriors  she  fires  with  animated  sounds ; 
Pours  balm  into  the  bleeding  lover's  wounds: 
Melancholy  lifts  her  head, 
Morpheus  rouses  from  his  bed, 
Sloth  unfolds  her  arms  and  wakes, 
Listening  Envy  drops  her  snakes ; 
Intestine  war  no  more  our  passions  wage, 
And  giddy  factions  hear  away  their  rage. 


But  when  our  country's  cause  provokes  to  arrns^ 
How  martial  music  every  bosom  warms  ! 
So  when  the  first  bold  vessel  dared  the  seas, 
High  on  the  stern  the  Thracian  raised  his  strain, 
While  Argo  saw  her  kindred  trees 

Descend  from  Pelion  to  the  main. 
Transported  demi-gods  stood  round, 
And  men  grew  heroes  at  the  sound, 

Inflamed  with  glory's  charms; 
Each  chief  his  sevenfold  shield  display'd, 
And  half  unsheathed  the  shining  blade : 
And  seas,  and  rocks,  and  skies  rebound 
To  arms  !  to  arms  !  to  arms ! 


But  when,  through  all  the  infernal  bounds 
Which  flaming  Phlegethon  surrounds, 
Love,  strong  as  death,  the  poet  led 
To  the  pale  nations  of  the  dead. 
What  sounds  were  heard, 
What  scenes  appear'd, 
O'er  all  the  dreary  coasts ! 


ODE  ON  ST.   CECILIAS  DAT. 

Dreadful  gleams, 

Dismal  screams, 

Fires  that  glow, 

Shrieks  of  woe, 

Sullen  moans, 

Hollow  groans, 
And  cries  of  tortured  ghosts ! 
But,  hark !  he  strikes  the  golden  lyre; 
And  see  !  the  tortured  ghosts  respire, 

See,  shady  forms  advance ! 
Thy  stone,  O  Sisyphus,  stands  still, 
Ixion  rests  upon  his  wheel, 

And  the  pale  spectres  dance; 


The  Furies  sink  upon  their  iron  beds, 

iTd  hang  listening  round  their  heads. 


And  snakes  uncurl 


By  the  streams  that  ever  flow, 
By  the  fragrant  winds  that  blow 

O'er  the  Elysian  flowers ; 
By  those  happy  souls  who  dwell 
In  yellow  meads  of  asphodel, 

Or  amaranthine  bowers; 
By  the  heroes'  armed  shades, 
Glittering  through  the  gloomy  glades 
By  the  youths  that  died  for  love, 
Wandering  in  the  myrtle  grove, 
Eestore,  restore  Eurydice  to  life: 
Oh  take  the  husband,  or  return  the  wife ! 

He  sung,  and  hell  consented 
To  hear  the  poet's  prayer; 
Stern  Proserpine  relented, 
And  gave  him  back  the  fair. 
Thus  song  could  prevail 
O'er  death,  and  oV  hell. 
A  conquest  how  hard  and  how  glorious ! 
Though  fate  had  fast  bound  her 
With  Styx  nine  times  round  her, 
Yet  music  and  love  were  victorious. 


But  soon,  too  soon,  the  lover  turns  his  eyes: 
Again  she  falls,  again  she  dies,  she  dies ! 


40  ODE  ON  ST.  CECILIA'S  DAY. 

How  wilt  thou  now  the  fatal  sisters  move  ? 
No  crime  was  thine,  if  'tis  no  crime  to  love. 
Now  under  hanging  mountains, 
Beside  the  falls  of  fountains, 
Or  where  Hebrus  wanders, 
Rolling  in  meanders, 
All  alone, 

Unheard,  unknown, 
He  makes  his  moan ; 
And  calls  her  ghost, 
For  ever,  ever,  ever  lost ! 
Now  with  furies  surrounded, 
Despairing,  confounded, 
He  trembles,  he  glows, 
Amidst  Rhodope's  snows: 
See,  wild  as  the  winds,  o'er  the  desert  he  flies ; 
Hark  !  Hsemus  resounds  with  the  Bacchanals'  cries—- 
Ah see,  he  dies! 

Yet  even  in  death  Eurydice  he  sung, 
Eurydice  still  trembled  on  his  tongue, 
Eurydice  the  woods, 
Eurydice  the  floods, 
Eurydice  the  rocks,  and  hollow  mountains  rung. 


Music  the  fiercest  grief  can  charm, 
And  fate's  severest  rage  disarm  j 
Music  can  soften  pain  to  ease, 
And  make  despair  and  madness  please: 
Our  joys  below  it  can  improve, 
And  antedate  the  bliss  above. 
This  the  divine  Cecilia  found, 
And  to  her  Maker's  praise  confined  the  sound. 
When  the  full  organ  joins  the  tuneful  choir, 

The  immortal  powers  incline  their  ear ; 
Borne  on  the  swelling  notes  our  souls  aspire, 
While  solemn  airs  improve  the  sacred  fire; 

And  angels  lean  from  heaven  to  hear. 
Of  Orpheus  now  no  more  let  poets  tell, 

To  bright  Cecilia  greater  power  is  given; 
His  numbers  raised  a  shade  from  hell. 
Hers  lift  the  soul  to  heaven. 


41 
TWO  CHORUSES 

TO    THE   TRAGEDY    OF    BRUTUS. 

CHORUS  OF  ATHENIANS. 

STROPHE   I. 

YE  shades,  where  sacred  truth  is  sought; 

Groves,  where  immortal  sages  taught ; 

Where  heavenly  visions  Plato  fireo, 

And  Epicurus  lay  inspired  ! 

In  vain  your  guiltless  laurels  stood 

Unspotted  long  with  human  blood. 
War,  horrid  war,  your  thoughtful  walks  invade^ 
And  steel  now  glitters  in  the  Muses'  shades. 

ANTISTROPHE  I. 

Oh  heaven-born  sisters  !  source  of  art ! 

Who  charm  the  sense,  or  mend  the  heart; 

Who  lead  fair  virtue's  train  along, 

Moral  truth,  and  mystic  song  ! 

To  what  new  clime,  what  distant  sky, 

Forsaken,  friendless,  shall  ye  fly  ? 
Say,  will  ye  bless  the  bleak  Atlantic  shore  ? 
Or  bid  the  furious  Gaul  be  rude  no  more  ? 

STROPHE  II. 

When  Athens  sinks  by  fates  unjust, 
When  wild  barbarians  spurn  her  dust; 
Perhaps  even  Britain's  utmost  shore 
Shall  cease  to  blush  with  strangers'  gore, 
See  arts  her  savage  sons  control, 
And  Athens  rising  near  the  pole ! 
Till  some  new  tyrant  lifts  his  purple  hand, 
And  civil  madness  tears  them  from  the  land. 

ANTISTROPHK  II. 

Ye  gods !  what  justice  rules  the  ball  1 

Freedom  and  arts  together  fall ; 

Fools  grant  whate'er  ambition  craves, 

And  men,  once  ignorant,  are  slaves. 

Oh  cursed  effects  of  civil  hate, 

In  every  age,  in  every  state ! 
Still,  when  the  lust  of  tyrant  power  succeeds, 
Some  Athens  perishes,  some  Tully  bleeds. 


42  TWO  CHORUSES. 


CHORUS  OF  YOUTHS  AND  VIRGINS. 

SEMICHORUS. 

OH  tyrant  Love !  hast  thou  possest 

The  prudent,  learn'd,  and  virtuous  breast? 
Wisdom  and  wit  in  vain  reclaim, 
And  arts  but  soften  us  to  feel  thy  flame. 
Love,  soft  intruder,  enters  here, 
But  entering  learns  to  be  sincere. 
Marcus  with  blushes  owns  he  loves, 
And  Brutus  tenderly  reproves. 
Why,  virtue,  dost  thou  blame  desire, 

Which  nature  has  imprest, 
Why,  nature,  dost  thou  soonest  fire 
The  mild  and  generous  breast  t 

CHORUS. 

Love's  purer  flames  the  gods  approve; 
The  gods  and  Brutus  bend  to  love : 
Brutus  for  absent  Portia  sighs, 
And  sterner  Cassius  melts  at  Junia's  eyes. 
What  is  loose  love  t  a  transient  gust, 
Spent  in  a  sudden  storm  of  lust, 
A  vapour  fed  from  wild  desire, 
A  wandering,  self-consuming  fire. 
But  Hymen's  kinder  flames  unite, 

And  burn  for  ever  one ; 
Chaste  as  cold  Cynthia's  virgin  light^ 
Productive  as  the  sun. 

SEMICHORUS. 

O  source  of  every  social  tie, 
United  wish,  and  mutual  joy! 
What  various  joys  on  one  attend, 
As  son,  as  father,  brother,  husband,  friend ! 
Whether  his  hoary  sire  he  spies, 
While  thousand  grateful  thoughts  arise ; 
Or  meets  his  spouse's  fonder  eye ; 
Or  views  his  smiling  progeny: 

What  tender  passions  take  their  turns, 

What  home-felt  raptures  move  ! 
His  heart  now  melts,  now  leaps,  now  burns, 
With  reverence,  hope,  and  love. 


ODE  OX  SOLITUDE. 
CHORUS. 

Hence  guilty  joys,  distastes,  surmises, 
Hence  false  tears,  deceits,  disguises, 
Dangers,  doubts,  delays,  surprises ; 

Fires  that  scorch,  yet  dare  not  shine: 
Purest  love's  unwasting  treasure, 
Constant  faith,  fair  hope,  long  leisure, 
Days  of  ease,  and  nights  of  pleasure; 

Sacred  Hymen !  these  are  thine. 


ODE  ON  SOLITUDE. 

HAPPY  the  man,  whose  wish  and  care 

A  few  paternal  acres  bound, 
Content  to  breathe  his  native  air 

In  his  own  ground. 

Whose  herds  with  milk,  whose  fields  with  bread, 

Whose  flocks  supply  him  with  attire, 
Whose  trees  in  summer  yield  him  shade, 
In  winter  fire. 

Blest,  who  can  unconcern'dly  find 

Hours,  days,  and  years,  slide  soft  away, 
In  health  of  body,  peace  of  mind, 
Quiet  by  day, 

Sound  sleep  by  night ;  study  and  ease, 

Together  mixt;  sweet  recreation: 
And  innocence,  which  most  does  please 
With  meditation. 

Thus  let  me  live,  unseen,  unknown, 

Thus  unlamented  let  me  die, 
Steal  from  the  world,  and  not  a  stone 
Tell  where  I  lie. 


THE  DYING  CHEISTIAN  TO  HIS  SOUL, 


VITAL  spark  of  heavenly  flame ! 

Quit,  oh  quit  this  mortal  frame ! 
Trembling,  hoping,  lingering,  flying 
Oh  the  pain,  the  bliss  of  dying ! 

Cease,  fond  nature,  cease  thy  strife, 

And  let  me  languish  into  life ! 


Hark !  they  whisper ;  angels  say, 

Sister  spirit,  come  away! 

What  is  this  absorbs  me  quite? 

Steals  my  senses,  shuts  my  sight, 
Drowns  my  spirits,  draws  my  breath  ? 
Tell  me,  my  soul,  can  this  be  death  ? 


The  world  recedes ;  it  disappears ! 
Heaven  opens  on  my  eyes !  my  ears 

With  sounds  seraphic  ring : 
Lend,  lend  your  wings !  I  mount !  I  fly  I 
O  Grave !  where  is  thy  victory  1 

O  Death!  where  is  thy  sting? 


45 

AN  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM. 

Written  in  the  year  1709. 


Tis  hard  to  say,  if  greater  want  of  skill 
Appear  in  writing  or  in  judging  ill ; 
But,  of  the  two,  less  dangerous  is  the  offence 
To  tire  our  patience,  than  mislead  our  sense. 
Some  few  in  that,  but  numbers  err  in  this, 
Ten  censure  wrong  for  one  who  writes  amiss ; 
A  fool  might  once  himself  alone  expose, 
Now  one  in  verse  makes  many  more  in  prose. 

Tis  with  our  judgments  as  our  watches,  none 
Go  just  alike,  yet  each  believes  his  own. 
In  poets  as  true  genius  is  but  rare, 
True  taste  as  seldom  is  the  critics'  share  ; 
Both  must  alike  from  Heaven  derive  their  light, 
These  born  to  judge,  as  well  as  those  to  write. 
Let  such  teach  others  who  themselves  excel, 
And  censure  freely  who  have  written  well 
Authors  are  partial  to  their  wit,  'tis  true, 
But  are  not  critics  to  their  judgment  too? 

Yet  if  we  look  more  closely,  we  shall  find 
Most  have  the  seeds  of  judgment  in  their  mind: 
Nature  affords  at  least  a  glimmering  light ; 
The  line.3,  though  touch'd  but  faintly  are  drawn  right. 
But  as  the  slightest  sketch,  if  justly  traced, 
Is  by  ill-colouring,  but  the  more  disgraced, 
So  by  false  learning  is  good  sense  defaced  : 
Some  are  bewilder'd  in  the  maze  of  schools, 
And  some  made  coxcombs  nature  meant  but  fools. 
In  search  of  wit  these  lose  their  common  sense, 
And  then  turn  critics  in  their  own  defence: 
Each  burns  alike,  who  can,  or  cannot  write, 
Or  with  a  rival's  or  a  eunuch's  spite. 
All  fools  have  still  an  itching  to  deride, 
And  fain  would  be  upon  the  laughing  side. 
If  Maevius  scribble  in  Apollo's  spite, 
There  are  who  judge  still  worse  than  he  can  write. 

Some  have  at  first  for  wits,  then  poets  pass'd, 
Turu'd  critics  next,  and  proved  plain  fools  at  last. 


46  AN   ESSAY   ON   CiUTICISM. 

Some  neither  can  for  wits  nor  critics  pass, 
As  heavy  mules  are  neither  horse  nor  ass. 
Those  half-learn'd  witlings,  numerous  in  our  isle, 
As  half-form'd  insects  on  the  banks  of  Nile  ; 
Unfinished  things,  one  knows  not  what  to  call, 
Their  generation's  so  equivocal : 
To  tell  them,  would  a  hundred  tongues  require, 
Or  one  vain  wit's,  that  might  a  hundred  tire. 

But  you  who  seek  to  give  and  merit  fame, 
And  justly  bear  a  critic's  noble  name, 
Be  sure  yourself  and  your  own  reach  to  know, 
How  far  your  genius,  taste,  and  learning  go  ; 
Launch  not  beyond  your  depth,  but  be  discreet, 
And  mark  that  point  where  sense  and  dulness  meet. 

Nature  to  all  things  fix'd  the  limits  fit, 
And  wisely  curb'd  proud  man's  pretending  wit. 
As  on  the  land  while  here  the  ocean  gains, 
In  other  parts  it  leaves  wide  sandy  plains ; 
Thus  in  the  soul  while  memory  prevails, 
The  solid  power  of  understanding  fails: 
Where  beams  of  warm  imagination  play, 
The  memory's  soft  figures  melt  away. 
One  science  only  will  one  genius  fit ;  • 
So  vast  is  art,  so  narrow  human  wit : 
Not  only  bounded  to  peculiar  arts, 
But  oft  in  those  confined  to  single  parts. 
Like  kings  we  lose  the  conquests  gain'd  before, 
By  vain  ambition  still  to  make  them  more : 
Each  might  his  several  province  well  command, 
Would  all  but  stoop  to  what  they  understand. 

First  follow  Nature,  and  your  judgment  frame 
By  her  just  standard,  which  is  still  the  same: 
Unerring  NATURE,  still  divinely  bright, 
One  clear,  unchanged,  and  universal  light, 
Life,  force,  and  beauty,  must  to  all  impart, 
At  once  the  source,  and  end,  and  test  of  Art. 
Art  from  that  fund  each  just  supply  provides; 
Works  without  show,  and  without  pomp  presides: 
In  some  fair  body  thus  the  informing  soul 
With  spirits  feeds,  with  vigour  fills  the  whole, 
Each  motion  guides,  and  every  nerve  sustains ; 
Itself  unseen,  but  in  the  effects  remains. 
Some,  to  whom  Heaven  in  wit  has  been  profuse, 
Want  as  much  more,  to  turn  it  to  its  use ; 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM.  47 

For  wit  and  judgment  often  are  at  strife, 
Though  meant  each  other's  aid,  like  man  and  wife. 
Tis  more  to  guide,  than  spur  the  Muses'  steed  j 
Restrain  his  fury,  than  provoke  his  speed ; 
The  winged  courser,  like  a  generous  horse, 
Shows  most  true  mettle  when  you  check  his  course. 

Those  RULES  of  old  discover'd,  not  devised, 
Are  nature  still,  but  nature  methodized  ; 
Nature,  like  liberty,  is  but  restrain'd 
By  the  same  laws  which  first  herself  ordain'd. 

Hear  how  Icarn'd  Greece  her  useful  rules  indites, 
When  to  repress,  and  when  indulge  our  flights  : 
High  on  Parnassus'  top  her  sons  she  show  d, 
And  pointed  out  those  arduous  paths  they  trod ; 
Held  from  afar,  aloft,  the  immortal  prize, 
And  urged  the  rest  by  equal  steps  to  rise. 
Just  precepts  thus  from  great  examples  given, 
She  drew  from  them  what  they  derived  from  heaven. 
The  generous  critic  fann'd  the  poet's  fire, 
And  taught  the  world  with  reason  to  admire. 
Then  Criticism  the  Muse's  handmaid  proved, 
To  dress  her  charms,  and  make  her  more  beloved : 
But  following  wits  from  that  intention  stray'd, 
Who  could  not  win  the  mistress,  woo'd  the  maid ; 
Against  the  poets  their  own  arms  they  turii'd, 
Sure  to  hate  most  the  men  from  whom  they  learn'd. 
So  modern  'pothecaries,  taught  the  art 
By  doctors'  bills  to  play  the  doctor's  part, 
Bold  in  the  practice  of  mistaken  rules, 
Prescribe,  apply,  and  call  their  masters  fools. 
Some  on  the  leaves  of  ancient  authors  prey, 
Nor  time  nor  moths  e'er  spoil  so  much  as  they. 
Some  drily  plain,  without  invention's  aid, 
Write  dull  receipts  how  poems  may  be  made. 
These  leave  the  sense,  their  learning  to  display, 
And  those  explain  the  meaning  quite  away.       [steer, 

Youthen  whose  judgment  the  right  course  would 
Know  well  each  ANCIENT'S  proper  character; 
His  fable,  subject,  scope,  in  every  page ; 
Religion,  country,  genius  of  his  age  : 
Without  all  these  at  onoe  before  your  eyes, 
Cavil  you  may,  but  never  criticise. 
Be  Homer's  works  your  study  and  delight, 
Read  them  by  day,  and  meditate  by  night ; 


48  AN   ESSAY   ON  CRITICISM. 

Thence  form  your  judgment,  thence  your  maxims  "bring, 
And  trace  the  Muses  upward  to  their  spring. 
Still  with  itself  compared,  his  text  peruse  ; 
And  let  your  comment  be  the  Mantuan  Muse. 

When  first  young  Maro  in  his  boundless  mind 
A  work  to  outlast  immortal  Eome  design'd, 
Perhaps  he  seem'd  above  the  critic's  law, 
And  but  from  nature's  fountain  scorn'd  to  draw : 
But  when  to  examine  every  part  he  came, 
Nature  and  Homer  were,  he  found,  the  same. 
Convinced,  amazed,  he  checks  the  bold  design : 
And  rules  as  strict  his  labour'd  work  confine, 
As  if  the  Stagirite  o'erlook'd  each  line. 
Learn  hence  for  ancient  rules  a  just  esteem  ; 
To  copy  nature  is  to  copy  them. 

Some  beauties  yet  no  precepts  can  declare, 
For  there's  a  happiness  as  well  as  care. 
Music  resembles  poetry:  in  each 
Are  nameless  graces  which  no  methods  teach, 
And  which  a  master-hand  alone  can  reach. 
If,  where  the  rules  not  far  enough  extend, 
(Since  rules  were  made  but  to  promote  their  end) 
Some  lucky  licence  answer  to  the  full 
The  intent  proposed,  that  licence  is  a  rule. 
Thus  Pegasus,  a  nearer  way  to  take, 
May  boldly  deviate  from  the  common  track. 
Great  wits  sometimes  may  gloriously  offend, 
And  rise  to  faults  true  critics  dare  not  mend  ; 
From  vulgar  bounds  with  brave  disorder  part, 
And  snatch  a  grace  beyond  the  reach  of  art, 
Which,  without  passing  through  the  judgment,  gains 
The  heart,  and  all  its  end  at  once  attains. 
In  prospects  thus,  some  objects  please  our  eyes, 
Which  out  of  nature's  common  order  rise, 
The  shapeless  rock,  or  hanging  precipice. 
But  though  the  ancients  thus  their  rules  invade, 
(As  kings  dispense  with  laws  themselves  have  made,) 
Moderns,  beware !  or  if  you  must  offend 
Against  the  precept,  ne'er  transgress  its  end ; 
Let  it  be  seldom,  and  compell'd  by  need; 
And  have,  at  least,  their  precedent  to  plead. 
The  critic  else  proceeds  without  remorse, 
Seizes  your  fame,  and  puts  his  laws  in  force. 

I  know  there  are,  to  whose  presumptuous  thoughts 
Those  freer  beauties,  even  in  them,  seem  faults. 


AN    ESSAY   ON   CRITICISM.  49 

Some  figures  monstrous  and  misshaped  appear, 
Consicler'd  singly,  or  beheld  too  near, 
Which,  but  proportioned  to  their  light  or  place, 
Due  distance  reconciles  to  form  and  grace. 
A  prudent  chief  not  always  must  display 
His  powers,  in  equal  ranks,  and  fair  array, 
But  with  the  occasion  and  the  place  comply, 
Conceal  his  force,  nay,  seem  sometimes  to  fly. 
Those  oft  are  stratagems  which  errors  seem, 
Nor  is  it  Homer  nods,  but  we  that  dream. 

Still  green  with  bays  each  ancient  altar  stands, 
Above  the  reach  of  sacrilegious  hands ; 
Secure  from  flames,  from  envy's  fiercer  rage, 
Destructive  war,  and  all-involving  age.  ' 
See  from  each  clime  the  learn 'd  their  incense  bring  1 
Hear,  in  all  tongues  consenting  paeans  ring  ! 
In  praise  so  just  let  every  voice  be  join'd, 
And  fill  the  general  chorus  of  mankind. 
Hail,  bards  triumphant !  born  in  happier  days; 
Immortal  heirs  of  universal  praise ! 
Whose  honours  with  increase  of  ages  grow, 
As  streams  roll  down,  enlarging  as  they  flow; 
Nations  unborn  your  mighty  names  shall  sound 
And  worlds  applaud  that  must  not  yet  be  found ! 
O  may  some  spark  of  your  celestial  fire, 
The  last,  the  meanest  of  your  sons  inspire, 
(That  on  weak  wings,  from  far,  pursues  your  flights ; 
Glows  while  he  reads,  but  trembles  as  he  writes) 
To  teach  vain  wits  a  science  little  known, 
To  admire  superior  sense,  and  doubt  their  own ! 


OF  all  the  causes  which  conspire  to  blind 
Man's  erring  judgment,  and  misguide  the  mind, 
What  the  weak  head  with  strongest  bias  rules, 
Is  pride,  the  never-failing  vice  of  fools. 
Whatever  nature  has  in  worth  denied, 
She  gives  in  large  recruits  of  needful  pride  ; 
For  as  in  bodies,  thus  in  souls,  we  find 
What  wants  in  blood  and  spirits,  swell'd  with  wind 
Pride,  where  wit  fails,  steps  in  to  our  defence, 
And  fills  up  all  the  mighty  void  of  sense. 
If  once  right  reason  drives  that  cloud  away, 
Truth  breaks  upon  us  with  resistless  day. 
6* 


50  AN   ESSAY   ON   CRITICISM. 

Trust  not  yourself;  but  your  defects  to  know 
Make  use  of  every  friend — and  every  foe. 

A  little  learning  is  a  dangerous  thing ; 
Drink  deep,  or  taste  not  the  Pierian  spring : 
There  shallow  draughts  intoxicate  the  brain, 
And  drinking  largely  sobers  us  again. 
Fired  at  first  sight  with  what  the  Muse  imparts, 
In  fearless  youth  we  tempt  the  heights  of  arts, 
While  from  the  bounded  level  of  our  mind, 
Short  views  we  take,  nor  see  the  lengths  behind; 
But  more  advanced,  behold  with  strange  surprise 
New  distant  scenes  of  endless  science  rise  ! 
So  pleased  at  first  the  towering  Alps  we  try, 
Mount  o'er  the  vales  and  seem  to  tread  the  sky, 
The  eternal  snows  appear  already  pass'd, 
And  the  first  clouds  and  mountains  seem  the  last: 
But,  those  attain'd,  we  tremble  to  survey 
The  growing  labours  of  the  lengthen'd  way, 
The  increasing  prospect  tires  our  wandering  eyes, 
Hills  peep  o'er  hills,  and  Alps  on  Alps  arise  ! 

A  perfect  judge  will  read  each  work  of  wit 
"With  the  same  spirit  that  its  author  writ: 
Survey  the  WHOLE,  nor  seek  slight  faults  to  find 
"Where  nature  moves,  and  rapture  warms  the  mind  j 
Nor  lose  for  that  malignant  dull  delight, 
The  generous  pleasure  to  be  chann'd  with  wit. 
But  in  such  lays  as  neither  ebb  nor  flow, 
Correctly  cold,  and  regularly  low, 
That  shunning  faults,  one  quiet  tenor  keep; 
"We  cannot  blame  indeed — but  we  may  sleep. 
In  wit,  as  nature,  what  affects  our  hearts 
Is  not  the  exactness  of  peculiar  parts ; 
'Tis  not  a  lip,  orjeye,  we  beauty  call, 
But  the  joint  force  and  full  result  of  all. 
Thus  when  we  view  some  well-proportioned  dome, 
(The  world's  just  wonder,  and  even  thine,  O  Home  !) 
No  single  parts  unequally  surprise, 
All  comes  united  to  the  admiring  eyes ; 
No  monstrous  height,  or  breadth,  or  length  appear ; 
The  whole  at  once  is  bold,  and  regular. 

Whoever  thinks  a  faultless  piece  to  see, 
Thinks  what  ne'er  was,  nor  is,  nor  e'er  shall  be. 
In  every  work  regard  the  writer's  end, 
Since  none  can  compass  more  than  thev  intend ; 


AN   ESSAY   ON  CRITICISM.  51 

And  if  the  means  be  just,  the  conduct  true, 
Applause,  in  spite  of  trivial  faults,  is  due. 
As  men  of  breeding,  sometimes  men  of  wit, 
To  avoid  great  errors,  must  the  less  commit ; 
Neglect  the  rules  each  verbal  critic  lays, 
For  not  to  know  some  trifles  is  a  praise. 
Most  critics,  fond  of  some  subservient  art, 
Still  make  the  whole  depend  upon  a  part : 
They  talk  of  principles,  but  notions  prize, 
And  all  to  one  loved  folly  sacrifice. 

Once  on  a  time,  La  Mancha's  knight,  they  say, 
A  certain  bard  encountering  on  the  way, 
Discoursed  in  terms  as  just,  with  looks  as  sage, 
As  e'er  could  Dennis,  of  the  Grecian  stage ; 
Concluding  all  were  desperate  sots  and  fools, 
Who  durst  depart  from  Aristotle's  rules. 
Our  author,  happy  in  a  judge  so  nice, 
Produced  his  play,  and  begg'd  the  knight's  advice ; 
Made  him  observe  the  subject,  and  the  plot, 
The  manners,  passions,  unities:  what  not  ? 
All  which,  exact  to  rule,  were  brought  about, 
Were  but  a  combat  in  the  lists  left  out. 
"  What !  leave  the  combat  out  ?"  exclaims  the  knight ; 
Yes,  or  we  must  renounce  the  Stagirite. 
u  Not  so,  by  Heaven  !"  (he  answers  in  a  rage) 
u  Knights,  squires,  and  steeds,  must  enter  on  the  stage." 
So  vast  a  throng  the  stage  can  ne'er  contain. 
"  Then  build  a  new,  or  act  it  in  a  plain." 

Thus  critics  of  less  judgment  than  caprice, 
Curious  not  knowing,  not  exact  but  nice, 
Form  short  ideas;  and  offend  in  arts 
(As  most  in  manners)  by  a  love  to  parts. 

Some  to  conceit  alone  their  taste  confine, 
And  glittering  thoughts  struck  out  at  every  line ; 
Pleased  with  a  work  where  nothing's  just  or  fit ; 
One  glaring  chaos  and  wild  heap  of  wit 
Poets,  like  painters,  thus,  unskill'd  to  trace 
The  naked  nature  and  the  living  grace, 
With  gold  and  jewels  cover  every  part, 
And  hide  with  ornaments  their  want  of  art. 
True  wit  is  nature  to  advantage  dress'd ; 
What  oft  was  thought,  but  ne'er  so  well  express'd; 
Somethi»g,  whose  truth,  convinced  at  sight  we  find, 
That  gives  us  back  the  image  of  our  mind. 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CHITICTSM. 

As  shades  more  sweetly  recommend  the  light, 
So  modest  plainness  sets  off  sprightly  wit. 
For  works  may  have  more  wit  than  does  'em  good, 
As  bodies  perish  through  excess  of  blood. 

Others  for  language  all  their  care  express, 
And  value  books,  as  women  men,  for  dress : 
Their  praise  is  still, — The  style  is  excellent; 
The  sense  they  humbly  take  upon  content. 
Words  are  like  leaves ;  and  where  they  most  abound, 
Much  fruit  of  sense  beneath  is  rarely  found: 
False  eloquence,  like  the  prismatic  glass, 
Its  gaudy  colours  spreads  on  every  place ; 
The  face  of  nature  we  no  more  survey, 
All  glares  alike,  without  distinction  gay : 
But  true  expression,  like  the  unchanging  sun, 
Clears  and  improves  whate'er  it  shines  upon, 
It  gilds  all  objects,  but  it  alters  none. 
Expression  is  the  dress  of  thought,  and  still 
Appears  more  decent,  as  more  suitable  ; 
A  vile  conceit  in  pompous  words  express'd 
Is  like  a  clown  in  regal  purple  dress'd  : 
For  different  styles  with  different  subjects  sort, 
As  several  garbs  with  country,  town,  and  court. 
Some  by  old  words  to  fame  have  made  pretence, 
Ancients  in  phrase,  mere  moderns  in  their  sense ; 
Such  labour'd  nothings,  in  so  strange  a  style, 
Amaze  the  unlearn' d  and  make  the  learned  smile. 
Unlucky,  as  Fungoso  in  the  play, 
These  sparks  with  awkward  vanity  display 
What  the  fine  gentleman  wore  yesterday ; 
And  but  so  mimic  ancient  wits  at  best, 
As  apes  our  grandsires,  in  their  doublets  drest. 
In  words,  as  fashions,  the  same  rule  will  hold ; 
Alike  fantastic,  if  too  new,  or  old : 
Be  not  the  first  by  whom  the  new  are  tried, 
Nor  yet  the  last  to  lay  the  old  aside. 

But  most  by  numbers  judge  a  poet's  song, 
And  smooth  or  rough,  with  them,  is  right  or  wrong : 
In  the  bright  Muse,  though  thousand  charms  conspire, 
Her  voice  is  all  these  tuneful  fools  admire; 
Who  haunt  Parnassus  but  to  please  their  ear, 
Not-mend  their  minds;  as  some  to  church  repair, 
Not  for  the  doctrine,  but  the  music  there. 


AN    ESSAY   ON    CK1T1CI  Ol.  53 

These  equal  syllables  alone  require, 

Though  oft  the  ear  the  opi-n  vowels  tire; 

While  expletives  their  feeble  aid  do  join; 

And  ten  low  words  oft  creep  in  one  dull  line : 

While  they  ring  round  the  same  unvaried  chimes, 

With  sure  returns  of  still  expected  rhymes : 

Where'er  you  find  "  the  cooling  western  breeze," 

In  the  next  line,  it  "  whispers  through  the  trees  :" 

If  crystal  streams  "  with  pleasing  murmurs  creep," 

The  reader's  threateu'd  (not  in  vain)  with  "  sleep  :" 

Then,  at  the  last  and  only  couplet  fraught 

With  some  unmeaning  thing  they  call  a  thought, 

A  needless  Alexandrine  ends  the  song, 

That,  like  a  wounded  snake,  drags  its  slow  length  along. 

Leave  such  to  tune  their  own  dull  rhymes,  and  know 

What's  roundly  smooth,  or  languishingly  slow ; 

And  praise  the  easy  vigour  of  a  line, 

Where  Denham's  strength  and  Waller's  sweetness 

join. 

True  ease  in  writing  cornea  from  art,  not  chance, 
As  those  move  easiest  who  have  learn'd  to  dance. 
Tis  not  enough  no  harshness  gives  offence, 
The  sound  must  seem  an  echo  to  the  sense. 
Soft  is  the  strain  when  Zephyr  gently  blows, 
And  the  smooth  stream  in  smoother  numbers  flows ; 
But  when  loud  surges  huh  the  sounding  shore, 
The  hoarse,  rough  verse  should  like  the  torrent  roar: 
When  Ajax  strives  some  rock's  vast  weight  to  throw, 
The  line  too  labours,  and  the  words  move  slow  : 
Not  so,  when  swift  Camilla  scours  the  plain, 
Flies  o'er  the  unbending  corn,  and  skims  along  the 

main. 

Hear  how  Timotheus'  varied  lays  surprise, 
And  bid  alternate  passions  fall  and  rise  ! 
While  at  each  change  the  son  of  Libyan  Jove 
Now  burns  with  glory,  and  then  melts  with  love  ; 
Now  his  fierce  eyes  with  sparkling  fury  glow, 
Now  sighs  steal  out,  and  tears  begin  to  flow  : 
Persians  and  Greeks  like  turns  of  nature  found, 
And  the  world's  victor  stood  subdued  by  sound ! 
The  power  of  music  all  our  hearts  allow, 
And  what  Timotheus  was,  is  DRYDEN  now. 

Avoid  extremes  ;  and  shun  the  fault  of  such, 
Who  still  are  pleased  too  little  or  too  much. 


54  AN    ESSVY    ON    CIUTICISM. 

At  every  trifle  scorn  to  take  offence, 

That  always  shows  great  -pride  or  little  sense  : 

Those  heads,  as  stomachs,  are  not  sure  the  best 

Which  nauseate  all,  and  nothing  can  digest. 

Yet  let  not  each  gay  turn  thy  rapture  move  : 

For  fools  admire,  but  men  of  sense  approve  : 

As  things  seem  large  which  we  through  mist  descry, 

Dulness  is  ever  apt  to  magnify. 

Some  foreign  writers,  some  our  own  despise ; 
The  ancients  only,  or  the  moderns  prize. 
Thus  wit,  like  faith,  by  each  man  is  applied 
To  one  small  sect,  and  all  are  damn'd  beside. 
Meanly  they  seek  the  blessing  to  confine, 
And  force  that  sun  but  on  a  part  to  shine, 
Which  not  alone  the  southern  wit  sublimes, 
But  ripens  spirits  in  cold  northern  climes  ; 
Which  from  the  first  has  shone  on  ages  past, 
Enlights  the  present,  and  shall  warm  the  last ; 
Though  each  may  feel  increases  and  decays, 
And  see  now  clearer  and  now  darker  days. 
Regard  not  then  if  wit  be  old  or  new, 
But  blame  the  false,  and  value  still  the  true. 

Some  ne'er  advance  a  judgment  of  their  own, 
But  catch  the  spreading  notion  of  the  town ; 
They  reason  and  conclude  by  precedent, 
And  own  stale  nonsense  which  they  ne'er  invent. 
Some  judge  of  authors'  names,  not  works,  and  then 
Nor  praise  nor  blame  the  writings,  but  the  men. 
Of  all  this  servile  herd,  the  worst  is  he 
That  in  proud  dulness  joins  with  quality. 
A  constant  critic  at  the  great  man's  board, 
To  fetch  and  carry  nonsense  for  my  lord. 
What  woful  stuff  this  madrigal  would  be, 
In  some  starved  hackney  sonneteer,  or  me  ! 
But  let  a  lord  once  own  the  happy  lines, 
How  the  wit  brightens  !  how  the  style  refines  ! 
Before  his  sacred  name  flies  every  fault, 
And  each  exalted  stanza  teems  with  thought ! 

The  vulgar  thus  through  imitation  err ; 
As  oft  the  learn'd  by  being  singular  ; 
So  much  they  scorn  the  crowd,  that  if  the  throng 
By  chance  go  right,  they  purposely  go  wrong ; 
So  schismatics  the  plain  believers  quit, 
And  are  but  damn'd  for  having  too  much  wit. 


AN   ESSAY   ON   CIUTICISM.  55 

Some  praise  at  morning  what  they  blame  at  night ; 
But  always  think  the  last  opinion  right. 
A  Muse  by  these  is  like  a  mistress  used, 
This  hour  she's  idolized,  the  next  al> 
While  their  weak  heads,  like  towns  unfortified, 
Twixt  sense  and  nonsense  daily  change  their  side. 
Ask  them  the  cause  ;  they're  wiser  still,  they  say; 
And  still  to-morrow's  wiser  than  to-day. 
We  think  our  fathers  fools,  so  wise  we  grow  ; 
Our  wiser  sons,  no  doubt,  will  think  us  so. 
Once  school-divines  this  zealous  isle  o'erspread ; 
Who  knew  most  sentences,  was  deepest  read  ; 
Faith,  gospel,  all,  seem'd  made  to  be  disputed, 
And  none  had  sense  enough  to  be  confuted : 
Scotists  and  Thomists  now  in  peace  remain, 
Amidst  their  kindred  cobwebs  in  Duck-lane.1 
If  faith  itself  has  different  dresses  worn, 
What  wonder  modes  in  wit  should  take  their  turn  t 
Oft,  leaving  what  is  natural  and  fit, 
The  current  folly  proves  the  ready  wit ; 
And  authors  think  their  reputation  safe, 
Which  lives  as  long  as  fools  are  pleased  to  laugh. 
Some  valuing  those  of  their  own  side  or  mind, 
Still  make  themselves  the  measure  of  mankind : 
Fondly  we  think  we  honour  merit  then, 
When  we  but  praise  ourselves  in  other  men. 
Parties  in  wit  attend  on  those  of  state, 
And  public  faction  doubles  private  hate. 
Pride,  malice,  folly,  against  Dryden  rose, 
In  various  shapes  of  parsons,  critics,  beaux  ; 
But  sense  survived  when  merry  jests  were  past, 
For  rising  merit  will  buoy  up  at  last. 
Might  he  return,  and  bless  once  more  our  eyes, 
New  Blaekmores  and  new  Milbourns  must  arise  : 
Nay,  should  great  Homer  lift  his  awful  head, 
Zoilus  again  would  start  up  from  the  dead. 
Envy  will  merit,  as  its  shade,  pursue  ; 
But  like  a  shadow,  proves  the  substance  true  : 
For  envied  wit,  like  Sol  eclipsed,  makes  known 
The  opposing  body's  grossness,  not  its  own. 
When  first  that  sun  too  powerful  beams  displays, 
It  draws  up  vapours  which  obscure  its  rays; 

1  A  place  where  old  and  second-hand  books  were  sold  formerly,  near 
Smithtield. 


06  AN   ESSAY   ON  CRITICISM. 

But  even  those  clouds  at  last  adorn  its  way, 
Eeflect  new  glories,  and  augment  the  day. 

Be  thou  the  first  true  merit  to  befriend ; 
His  praise  is  lost,  who  stays  till  all  commend. 
Short  is  the  date,  alas,  of  modern  rhymes, 
And  'tis  but  just  to  let  them  live  betimes. 
No  longer  now  that  golden  age  appears, 
When  patriarch-wits  survived  a  thousand  years: 
Now  length  of  fame  (our  second  life)  is  lost, 
And  bare  threescore  is  all  e'en  that  can  boast ; 
Our  sons  their  fathers'  failing  language  see, 
And  such  as  Chaucer  is,  shall  Dryden  be. 
So  when  the  faithful  pencil  has  design'd 
Some  bright  idea  of  the  master's  mind, 
Where  a  new  world  leaps  out  at  his  command, 
And  ready  nature  waits  upon  his  hand: 
When  the  ripe  colours  soften  and  unite, 
And  sweetly  melt  into  just  shade  and  light; 
When  mellowing  years  their  full  perfection  give, 
And  each  bold  figure  just  begins  to  live, 
The  treacherous  colours  the  fair  art  betray, 
And  all  the  bright  creation  fades  away! 

Unhappy  wit,  like  most  mistaken  things, 
Atones  not  for  that  envy  which  it  brings. 
In  youth  alone  its  empty  praise  we  boast, 
But  soon  the  short-lived  vanity  is  lost: 
Like  some  fair  flower  the  early  spring  supplies, 
That  gaily  blooms,  but  even  in  blooming  dies. 
What  is  this  wit,  which  must  our  cares  employ? 
The  owner's  wife,  that  other  men  enjoy ; 
Then  most  our  trouble  still  when  most  admired, 
And  still  the  more  we  give,  the  more  required ; 
Whose  fame  with  pains  we  guard,  but  lose  with  ease, 
Sure  some  to  vex,  but  never  all  to  please ; 
'Tis  what  the  vicious  fear,  the  virtuous  shun, 
By  fools  'tis  hated,  and  by  knaves  undone! 

If  wit  so  much  from  ignorance  undergo, 
Ah  let  not  learning  too  commence  its  foe ! 
Of  old,  those  met  rewards  who  could  excel, 
And  such  were  praised  who  but  endeavour'd  well: 
Though  triumphs  were  to  generals  only  due, 
Crowns  were  reserved  to  grace  the  soldiers  too. 
Now,  they  who  reach  Parnassus'  lofty  crown, 
Employ  their  pains  to  spurn  some  others  dow»; 


AN    ESSAY   OX   CRITICISM.  »          57 

And  while  self-love  each  jealous  writer  rules, 
Contending  wits  become  the  sport  of  fools : 
But  still  the  worst  with  most  regret  commend, 
For  each  ill  author  is  as  bad  a  friend. 
To  what  base  ends,  and  by  what  abject  ways, 
Are  mortals  urged  through  sacred  lust  of  praise ! 
Ah  ne'er  so  dire  a  thirst  of  glory  boast, 
Nor  in  the  critic  let  the  man  be  lost. 
Good-nature  and  good  sense  must  ever  join; 
To  err  is  human,  to  forgive — -divine. 

But  if  in  noble  minds  some  dregs  remain 
Not  yet  purged  off,  of  spleen  and  sour  disdain; 
Discharge  tb&t  rage  on  more  provoking  crimes, 
Nor  fear  a  dearth  in  these  flagitious  times. 
No  pardon  vile  obscenity  should  find, 
Though  wit  and  art  conspire  to  move  your  mind; 
But  dulness  with  obscenity  must  prove 
As  shameful  sure  as  impotence  in  love. 
In  the  fat  age  of  pleasure,  wealth,  and  ease, 
Sprung  the  rank  weed,  and  thrived  with  large  increase: 
When  love  was  all  an  easy  monarch's  care ; 
Seldom  at  council,  never  in  a  war: 
Jilts  ruled  the  state,  and  statesmen  farces  writ: 
Nay,  wits  had  pensions,  and  young  lords  had  wit: 
The  fair  sat  panting  at  a  courtier's  play, 
And  not  a  mask  went  unimproved  away: 
The  modest  fan  was  lifted  up  no  more, 
And  virgins  smiled  at  what  they  blush'd  before. 
The  following  licence  of  a  foreign  reign 
"Did  all  the  dregs  of  bold  Socinus  drain; 
Then  unbelieving  priests  reform'd  the  nation, 
And  taught  more  pleasant  methods  of  salvation; 
Where  heaven's  free  subjects  mighttheirrightsdispute, 
Lest  God  himself  should  seem  too  absolute: 
Pulpits  their  sacred  satire  learn'd  to  spare, 
And  vice  admired  to  find  a  flatterer  there! 
Encouraged  thus,  wit's  Titans  braved  the  skies, 
And  the  press  groan'd  with  licensed  blasphemies 
These  monsters,  critics!  with  your  darts  engage, 
Here  point  your  thunder,  and  exhaust  your  ragej 
Yet  shun  their  fault,  who,  scandalously  nice, 
Will  needs  mistake  an  author  into  vice ; 
All  seems  infected  that  the  infected  spy, 
As  all  looks  yellow  to  the  jaundiced  eye, 

V 


58  AN  ESSAY   ON  CRITICISM. 


LEARN  then  what  MORALS  critics  ought  to  show, 
For  'tis  but  half  a  judge's  task,  to  know. 
'Tis  not  enough,  taste,  judgment,  learning,  join; 
In  all  you  speak,  let  truth  and  candour  shine : 
That  not  alone  what  to  your  sense  is  due 
All  may  allow:  but  seek  your  friendship  too. 

Be  silent  always,  when  you  doubt  your  sense ; 
And  speak,  though  sure,  with  seeming  diffidence: 
Some  positive,  persisting  fops  we  know, 
Who,  if  once  wrong,  will  needs  be  always  so ; 
But  you,  with  pleasure  own  your  errors  past, 
And  make  each  day  a  critique  on  the  last. 

'Tis  not  enough  your  counsel  still  be  true ; 
Blunt  truths  more  mischief  than  nice  falsehoods  do; 
Men  must  be  taught  as  if  you  taught  them  not, 
And  things  unknown  proposed  as  things  forgot. 
Without  good-breeding  truth  is  disapproved ; 
That  only  makes  superior  sense  beloved. 

Be  niggards  of  advice  on  no  pretence: 
For  the  worst  avarice  is  that  of  sense. 
With  mean  complacence  ne'er  betray  your  trust, 
Nor  be  so  civil  as  to  prove  unjust. 
Fear  not  the  anger  of  the  wise  to  raise ; 
Those  best  can  bear  reproof,  who  merit  praise. 

'Twere  well  might  critics  still  this  freedom  take, 
But  Appius  reddens  at  each  word  you  speak, 
And  stares,  tremendous1  with  a  threatening  eye, 
Like  some  fierce  tyrant  in  old  tapestry. 
Fear  most  to  tax  an  honourable  fool, 
Whose  right  it  is,  uncensured,  to  be  dull ; 
Such,  without  wit,  are  poets  when  they  please, 
As  without  learning  they  can  take  degrees. 
Leave  dangerous  truths  to  unsuccessful  satires, 
And  flattery  to  fulsome  dedicators, 
Whom,  when  they  praise,  the  world  believes  no  more, 
Than  when  they  promise  to  give  scribbling  o'er. 

1  This  picture  was  taken  to  himself  by  John  Dennis,  a  furious  old 
critic  by  profession,  who,  upon  no  other  provocation,  wrote  against  this 
essay  and  its  author,  in  a  manner  perfectly  lunatic :  for  as  to  the  mention 
made  of  him  in  ver.  270,  he  took  it  as  a  compliment,  and  said  it  waa 
treacherously  meant  to  cause  him  to  overlook  this  abuse  of  his  person. 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CRITICISM.  69 

Tis  best  sometimes  your  censure  to  restrain, 
And  charitably  let  the  dull  be  vain : 
Your  silence  there  is  better  than  your  spite, 
For  who  can  rail  so  long  as  they  can  write? 
Still  humming  on,  their  drowsy  course  they  keep, 
And  lash'd  so  long,  like  tops,  are  lash'd  asleep. 
False  steps  but  help  them  to  renew  the  race, 
As,  after  stumbling,  jades  will  mend  their  pace. 
What  crowds  of  these,  im penitently  bold, 
In  sounds  and  jingling  syllables  grown  old, 
Still  run  on  poets  in  a  raging  vein, 
Even  to  the  dregs  and  squeezing  of  the  brain, 
Strain  out  the  last  dull  droppings  of  their  sense, 
And  rhyme  with  all  the  rage  of  impotence. 

Such  shameless  bards  we  have ;  and  yet  'tis  true, 
There  are  as  mad,  abandon'd  critics  too. 
The  bookful  blockhead  ignorautly  read, 
With  loads  of  learned  lumber  in  his  head, 
With  his  own  tongue  still  edifies  his  ears, 
And  always  listening  to  himself  appears. 
All  books  he  reads,  and  all  he  reads  assails, 
From  Dryden's  Fables  down  to  D'Urfey's  Tales. 
With  him  most  authors  steal  their  works,  or  buy ; 
Garth  did  not  write  his  own  Dispensary.1 
Name  a  new  play,  and  he's  the  poet's  friend, 
Nay,  show'd  his  faults — but  when  would  poets  mend  ? 
No  place  so  sacred  from  such  fops  is  barr  d,        [yard : 
Nor  is  Paul's  church  more  safe  than  Paul's  church- 
Nay,  fly  to  altars ;  there  they  '11  talk  you  dead ; 
For  fools  rush  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread. 
Distrustful  sense  with  modest  caution  speaks, 
It  still  looks  home,  and  short  excursions  makes ; 
But  rattling  nonsense  in  full  volleys  breaks, 
And  never  shock'd,  and  never  turu'd  aside, 
Bursts  out,  resistless,  with  a  thundering  tide. 

But  where's  the  man  who  counsel  can  bestow, 
Still  pleased  to  teach,  and  yet  not  proud  to  know  ? 
Unbiass'd,  or  by  favour  or  by  spite ; 
Not  dully  prepossess'd,  nor  blindly  right; 


1  A  common  slander  at  that  time  in  prejudice  of  that  deserving 
author.  Our  pot-t  did  him  this  ju.-t:ce,  when  that  slander  most  pre- 
vailed ;  and  it  ia  now  (perhaps  the  sooner  for  this  very  verse)  dead  and 
forgotten. 


60  AN  ESSAY   ON   CRITICISM. 

Though    learn'd,  well-bred;  and  though  well-bred, 
Modestly  bold,  and  humanly  severe ;  [sincere ; 

Who  to  a  friend  his  faults  can  freely  show, 
And  gladly  praise  the  merit  of  a  foe? 
Blest  with  a  taste  exact,  yet  unconfined; 
A  knowledge  both  of  books  and  human  kind ; 
Generous  converse ;  a  soul  exempt  from  pride ; 
And  love  to  praise,  with  reason  on  his  side  ] 

Such  once  were  critics ;  such  the  happy  few, 
Athens  and  Rome  in  better  ages  knew. 
The  mighty  Stagirite  first  left  the  shore, 
Spread  all  his  sails,  and  durst  the  deeps  explore ; 
He  steer'd  securely,  and  discover'd  far, 
Led  by  the  light  of  the  Mseonian  star. 
Poets,  a  race  long  unconfined  and  free, 
Still  fond  and  proud  of  savage  liberty, 
Received  his  laws ;  and  stood  convinced  'twas  fit, 
Who  conquer'd  nature  should  preside  o'er  wit. 

Horace  still  charms  with  graceful  negligence, 
And  without  method  talks  us  into  sense; 
Will,  like  a  friend,  familiarly  convey 
The  truest  notions  in  the  easiest  way. 
He,  who,  supreme  in  judgment  as  in  wit, 
Might  boldly  censure,  as  he  boldly  writ, 
Yet  judged  with  coolness,  though  he  sung  with  fire; 
His  precepts  teach  but  what  his  works  inspire. 
Our  critics  take  a  contrary  extreme, 
They  judge  with  fury,  but  they  write  with  phlegm: 
Nor  suffers  Horace  more  in  wrong  translations 
By  wits,  than  critics  in  as  wrong  quotations. 

See  Dionysius  Homer's  thoughts  refine, 
And  call  new  beauties  forth  from  every  line! 

Fancy  and  art  in  gay  Petronius  please, 
The  scholar's  learning  with  the  courtier's  ease. 

In  grave  Quintilian's  copious  work,  we  find 
The  justest  rules  and  clearest  method  join'd: 
Thus  useful  arms  in  magazines  we  place, 
All  ranged  in  order,  and  disposed  with  grace, 
But  less  to  please  the  eye,  than  arm  the  hand, 
Still  fit  for  use,  and  ready  at  command. 

Thee,  bold  Louginus !  all  the  Nine  inspire, 
And  bless  their  critic  with  a  poet's  fire. 
An  ardent  judge,  who,  jealous  in  his  trust, 
With  warmth  gives  sentence,  yet  is  always  just: 


AN    ESSAY   ON    CRITICISM.  61 

Whose  own  example  strengthens  all  his  laws; 
And  is  himself  that  great  sublime  he  draws. 

Thus  long  succeeding  critics  justly  reign 'd, 
Licence  repress'd,  and  useful  laws  ordain'd. 
Learning  and  Rome  alike  in  empire  grew ; 
And  arts  still  follow'd  where  her  eagles  flew; 
From  the  same  foes  at  last  both  felt  their  doom, 
And  the  same  a^e  saw  learning  fall  and  Rome. 
Then  tyranny  with  superstition  join'd, 
Afc  that  the  body,  this  enslaved  the  mind; 
Much  was  believed,  but  little  understood, 
And  to  be  dull  was  construed  to  be  good; 
A  second  deluge  ledhiing  thus  o'errun, 
And  the  monks  finish'd  what  the  Goths  begun. 

At  length  Erasmus,  that  great  injured  name, 
(The  glory  of  the  priesthood  and  the  shame !) 
Stemm'd  the  wild  torrent  of  a  barbarous  age, 
And  drove  those  holy  Vandals  off  the  stage. 
But  see !  each  muse,  in  LEO'S  golden  days, 
Starts  from  her  trance,  and  trims  her  withered  bays, 
Rome's  ancient  genius,  o'er  its  ruins  spread, 
Shakes  off  the  dust,  and  rears  his  reverend  head. 
Then  sculpture  and  her  sister-arts  revive ; 
Stones  leap'd  to  form,  and  rocks  began  to  live ; 
With  sweeter  notes  each  rising  temple  rung ; 
A  Raphael  painted,  and  a  Vida  sung. 
Immortal  Vida !  on  whose  honour'd  brow 
The  poet's  bays  and  critic's  ivy  grow: 
Cremona  now  shall  ever  boast  thy  name, 
As  next  in  place  to  Mantua,  next  in  fame ! 

But  soon  by  impious  arms  from  Latium  chased, 
Their  ancient  bounds  the  banish'd  Muses  pass'd. 
Thence  arts  o'er  all  the  northern  world  advance, 
But  critic-learning  flourish'd  most  in  France ; 
The  rules  a  nation,  born  to  serve,  obeys ; 
And  Boileau  still  in  right  of  Horace  sways. 
But  we,  brave  Britons,  foreign  Laws  despised, 
And  kept  unconquer'd,  and  uncivilized ; 
Fierce  for  the  liberties  of  wit,  and  bold, 
We  still  defied  the  Romans,  as  of  old. 
Yet  some  there  were,  among  the  sounder  few 
Of  those  who  less  presumed  and  better  knew, 
Who  durst  assert  the  juster  ancient  cause, 
And  here  restored  wit's  fundamental  laws. 
7* 


62  AN    ESSAY   ON    CRITICISM. 

Such  was  the  Muse,1  whose  rules  and  practice  tell, 

"Nature's  chief  masterpiece  is  writing^well." 

Such  was  Koscommon,  not  more  learn'd  than  good, 

With  manners  generous  as  his  noble  blood ; 

To  him  the  wit  of  Greece  and  Eome  was  known, 

And  every  author's  merit,  but  his  own. 

Such  late  was  Walsh — the  Muse's  judge  and  friend, 

Who  justly  knew  to  blame  or  to  commend! 

To  failings  mild,  but  zealous  for  desert ; 

The  clearest  head,  and  the  sincerest  heart. 

This  humble  praise,  lamented  shade,  receive ! 

This  praise  at  least  a  grateful  muse  may  give : 

The  muse,  whose  early  voice  you  taught  to  sing, 

Prescribed  her  heights,  and  pruned  her  tender  wing, 

(Her  guide  now  lost)  no  more  attempts  to  rise, 

But  in  low  numbers  short  excursions  tries : 

Content,  if  hence  the  unlearn'd  their  wants  may  view, 

The  learn'd  reflect  on  what  before  they  knew : 

Careless  of  censure,  nor  too  fond  of  fame ; 

Still  pleased  to  praise,  yet  not  afraid  to  blame ; 

Averse  alike  to  flatter,  or  offend ; 

Not  free  from  faults,  nor  yet  too  vain  to  mend. 

1  Ettay  on  Poetry  by  the  Duke  of  Buckingham.  Our  poet  is  not  th« 
only  one  of  his  time  who  complimented  this  Essay  and  its  noble  author. 
Mr.  Dryden  had  done  it  very  largely,  in  the  dedication  to  his  translation 
of  the.<Eneid;  and  Dr.  Garth  in  the  first  edition  of  his  Dispensary 
says, 

"  The  Tyber  now  no  courtly  Gallus  sees. 
But  smiling  Thames  enjoys  his  Kormanbys ;" 

though  afterwards  omitted,  when  parties  were  carried  so  high  in  the 
reign  of  Queen  Anne,  as  to  allow  no  commendation  to  an  opposite  in 
politics.  The  duke  was  all  his  life  a  steady  adherent  to  the  Church  of 
England  party,  yet  an  enemy  to  the  extravagant  measures  of  the  court 
in  the-  reign  of  Charles  II.  On  which  account,  after  having  strongly 
patronized  Mr.  Dryden,  a  coolness  succeeded  between  them  on  that 
poet's  absolute  attachment  to  the  court,  which  carried  him  some  length 
beyond  what  the  duke  could  approve  of.  This  nobleman's  triw 
character  had  been  very  well  marked  by  Mr.  Dryden  before : 

"  The  Muse's  friend, 
Himself  a  muse.     In  Sanadrin's  debate 
True  to  his  prince,  but  not  a  slave  of  state." 

ABS.  AND  Acnrp. 

Our  author  was  more  happy ;  he  was  honoured  very  young  with  his 
friendship,  and  it  continued  till  his  death  in  all  the  circumstances  of  a 


63 


THE   EAPE   OF   THE   LOCK. 

AN    HEROI  -  COMICAL  POEM. 
Written  in  the  year  1712. 


TO  MRS.  ARABELLA  FEEMOR. 
MADAM, 

IT  will  be  in  vain  to  deny  that  I  have  some  regard  for  this 
piece,  since  I  dedicate  it  to  you.  Yet  you  may  bear  me  witness,  it  was 
intended  only  to  direr!  a  few  young  ladies,  who  have  good  sense  and 
good  humour  enough  to  laugh  not  only  at  their  sex's  little  unguarded 
follies,  but  at  their  own.  But  as  it  was  communicated  with  the  air  of 
a  secret,  it  soon  found  ita  way  into  the  world.  An  imperfect  copy 
having  been  offered  to  a  bookseller,  you  had  the  goodnature  for  my 
sake  to  consent  to  the  publication  of  one  more  correct:  this  I  was  forced 
to,  before  I  had  executed  half  my  design,  for  the  machinery  was  en- 
tirely wanting  to  complete  it. 

The  machinery,  madam,  is  a  term  invented  by  the  critics,  to  signify 
that  part  which  the  deities,  angels,  or  demons,  are  made  to  act  in  a 
poem:  for  the  ancient  poets  are  in  one  respect  like  many  modern 
ladies ;  let  an  action  be  never  so  trivial  in  itself,  they  always  make  it 
appear  of  the  utmost  importance.  These  machines  I  determined  to  raise 
on  a  very  new  and  odd  foundation,  the  liosicrucian  doctrine  of 
spirits. 

I  know  how  disagreeable  it  is  to  make  use  of  hard  words  before  a 
lady ;  but  'tis  so  much  the  concern  of  a  poet  to  have  his  works  under- 
stood, and  particularly  by  your  sex,  that  you,  must  give  me  leave  to 
explain  two  or  three  difficult  terms. 

The  Kosicrucians  are  a  people  I  must  bring  you  acquainted  with. 
The  best  account  I  know  of  them  is  in  a  French  book  called  Le  Comte 
de  Gabalii,  which  both  in  its  title  and  size  is  so  like  a  novel,  that  many 
of  the  fair  sex'  have  read  it  for  one  by  mistake.  According  to  these 
gentlemen,  the  four  elements  are  inhabited  by  spirits,  which  they  call 
sylphs,  gnomes,  nymphs,  and  salamanders.  The  gnomes,  or  demons  of 
earth,  delight  in  mischief;  but  the  sylphs,  whose  habitation  is  in  the 
air,  are  the  best-conditioned  creatures  imaginable.  For  they  say,  any 
mortals  may  enjoy  the  most  intimate  familiarities  with  these  gentle 
spirits,  upon  a  condition  very  easy  to  all  true  adepts,  an  inviolate  pre- 
servation of  chastity. 

As  to  the  following  cantos,  all  the  passages  of  them  are  as  fabulous 
as  the  vision  at  the  beginning,  or  the  transformation  at  the  end  (except 
the  loss  of  your  hair,  which  I  always  mention  with  reverence).  The 
human  persons  are  as  fictitious  as  the  airy  ones ;  and  the  character  of 
Belinda,  as  it  is  now  managed,  resembles  you  in  nothing  but  in  beauty. 

If  this  poem  had  as  many  graces  as  there  are  in  your  person,  or  in 
your  mind,  yet  I  could  never  hope  it  should  pass  through  the  world 
half  so  uncensured  as  you  have  done.  But  let  its  fortune  be  what  it 


64  THE  RAPE   OF  THE   LOCK. 

will,  mine  is  happy  enough,  to  have  given  me  this  occasion  of  assuring 
you  that  I  am,  with  the  truest  esteem,  Madam, 

Your  most  obedient,  humble  servant, 

A.  POPE. 

Nolueram,  Belinda,  tuos  violare  capillos ; 

Sed  juvat,  hoc  precibus  me  tribuisse  tuis. — Mart. 

It  appears  by  this  motto,  that  the  following  poem  was  written  or 
published  at  the  lady's  request.  But  there  are  some  further  circum- 
stances not  unworthy  relating.  Mr.  Caryl  (a  gentleman  who  was 
secretary  to  Queen  Mary,  wife  of  James  II.,  whose  fortunes  he  followed 
into  France,  author  of  the  comedy  of  Sir  Solomon  Single,  and  of  several 
translations  in  Drydcn's  Miscellanies)  originally  proposed  the  subject  to 
him,  in  a  view  of  putting  an  end,  by  this  piece  of  ridicule,  to  a  quarrel 
that  was  risen  between  two  noble  families,  those  of  Lord  Petre  and  of 
Mrs.  Fermor,  on  the  trifling  occasion  of  his  having  cut  off  a  lock  of  her 
hair.  The  author  sent  it  to  the  lady  with  whom  he  was  acquainted ; 
and  she  took  it  so  well  as  to  give  about  copies  of  it. 


CANTO  FIRST. 

WHAT  dire  offence  from  amorous  causes  springs, 
"What  mighty  contests  rise  from  trivial  things, 
I  sing — This  verse  to  CARYL,  muse !  is  due : 
This,  even  Belinda  may  vouchsafe  to  view: 
Slight  is  the  subject,  but  not  so  the  praise, 
If  she  inspire,  and  he  approve  my  lays. 

Say  what  strange  motive,  goddess  !  could  compel 
A  well-bred  lord  to  assault  a  gentle  belle  ? 
O  say  what  stranger  cause,  yet  unexplored, 
Could  make  a  gentle  belle  reject  a  lord  1 
In  tasks  so  bold  can  little  men  engage, 
And  in  soft  bosoms  dwells  such  mighty  rage  ? 

Sol  through  white  curtains  shot  a  timorous  ray, 
And  oped  those  eyes  that  must  eclipse  the  day : 
Now  lap-dogs  give  themselves  the  rousing  shake, 
And  sleepless  lovers,  just  at  twelve,  awake: 
Thrice  rung  the  bell,  the  slipper  knock'd  the  ground, 
And  the  press'd  watch  return'd  a  silver  sound. 
Belinda  still  her  downy  pillow  prest, 
Her  guardian  SYLPH  prolonged  the  balmy  rest : 
Twas  he  had  summoned  to  her  silent  bed 
The  morning-dream  that  hover'd  o'er  her  head ; 
A  youth  more  glittering  than  a  birth-night  beau 
(That  e'en  in  slumber  caused  her  cheek  to  glow) 
Seern'd  to  her  ear  his  winning  lips  to  lay, 
And  thus  in  whispers  said,  or  seem'd  to  say: 


THE   RAPE   OP  THE   LOCK.  65 

Fairest  of  mortals,  thou  distinguish 'd  care 
Of  thousand  bright  inhabitants  of  air ! 
If  e'er  one  vision  touch 'd  thy  infunt  thought, 
Of  all  the  nurse  and  all  the  priest  have  taught ; 
Of  airy  elves  by  moonlight  shadows  seen, 
The  silver  token,  and  the  circled  green, 
Or  virgins  visited  by  angel-powers 
With  golden  crowns  and  wreaths  of  heavenly  flowers ; 
Hear  and  believe  !  thy  own  importance  know, 
"for  bound  thy  narrow  views  to  things  below. 

)me  secret  truths,  from  learned  pride  conceal'd, 
To  maids  alone  and  children  are  reveal'd: 

"hat  though  no  credit  doubting  wits  may  give  1 

ic  fair  and  innocent  shall  still  believe. 

low,  then,  unnumber'd  spirits  round  thee  fly, 
The  light  militia  of  the  lower  sky: 
These,  though  unseen,  are  ever  on  the  wing, 
Hang  o'er  the  box,  and  hover  round  the  ring 
Think  what  an  equipage  thou  hast  in  air, 
And  view  with  scorn  two  pages  and  a  chair. 
As  now  your  own,  our  beings  were  of  old, 
And  once  enclosed  in  woman's  beauteous  mould; 
Thence,  by  a  soft  transition,  we  repair 
From  earthly  vehicles  to  those  of  air. 
Think  not,  when  woman's  transient  breath  is  fled, 
That  all  her  vanities  at  once  are  dead ; 
Succeeding  vanities  she  still  regards, 
And  though  she  plays  no  more,  o'erlooks  the  cards. 
Her  joy  in  gilded  chariots,  when  alive, 
And  love  of  ombre,  after  death  survive. 
For  when  the  fair  in  all  their  pride  expire, 
To  their  first  elements  their  souls  retire: 
The  sprites  of  fiery  termagants  in  flame 
Mount  up,  and  take  a  salamander's  name. 
Soft  yielding  minds  to  water  glide  away, 
And  sip,  with  nymphs,  their  elemental  tea. 
The  graver  prude  sinks  downward  to  a  gnome, 
In  search  of  mischief  still  on  earth  to  roam. 
The  light  coquettes  in  sylphs  aloft  repair, 
And  sport  and  flutter  in  the  fields  of  air. 

Know  further  yet ;  whoever  fair  and  chaste 
Rejects  mankind,  is  by  some  sylph  embraced: 
For  spirits,  freed  from  mortal  laws,  with  ease 
Assume  what  sexes  and  what  shapes  they  pleaaa, 


66  THE    RAPE    OF   THE   LOCK. 

What  guards  the  purity  of  melting  maids, 
In  courtly  balls,  and  midnight  masquerades, 
Safe  from  the  treacherous  friend,  the  daring  spark, 
The  glance  by  day,  the  whisper  in  the  dark, 
"When  kind  occasion  prompts  their  warm  desires, 
When  music  softens,  and  when  dancing  fires  1 
'Tis  but  their  sylph,  the  wise  celestials  know, 
Though  honour  is  the  word  with  men  below. 

Some  nymphs  there  are,  too  conscious  of  their  face, 
For  life  predestined  to  the  gnomes'  embrace. 
These  swell  their  prospects  and  exalt  their  pride, 
When  offers  are  disdain'd,  and  love  denied : 
Then  gay  ideas  crowd  the  vacant  brain, 
While  peers,  and  dukes,  and  all  their  sweeping  train, 
And  garters,  stars,  and  coronets  appear, 
And  in  soft  sounds,  YOUR  GRACE  salutes  their  ear. 
'Tis  these  that  early  taint  the  female  soul, 
Instruct  the  eyes  of  young  coquettes  to  roll, 
Teach  infant-cheeks  a  hidden  blush  to  know, 
And  little  hearts  to  flutter  at  a  beau. 

Oft,  when  the  world  imagine  women  stray, 
The  sylphs  through  mystic  mazes  guide  their  way, 
Through  all  the  giddy  circle  they  pursue, 
And  old  impertinence  expel  by  new. 
What  tender  maid  but  must  a  victim  fall 
To  one  man's  treat,  but  for  another's  ball  ? 
When  Florio  speaks,  what  virgin  could  withstand, 
If  gentle  Damon  did  not  squeeze  her  hand  ? 
With  varying  vanities,  from  every  part, 
They  shift  the  moving  toyshop  of  their  heart;  [strive, 
Where  wigs  with  wigs,  with  sword-knots  sword-knots 
Beaux  banish  beaux,  and  coaches  coaches  drive. 
This  erring  mortals  levity  may  call, 
Oh,  blind  to  truth  !  the  sylphs  contrive  it  all. 

Of  these  am  I,  who  thy  protection  claim, 
A  watchful  sprite,  and  Ariel  is  my  name. 
Late,  as  I  ranged  the  crystal  wilds  of  air, 
In  the  clear  mirror  of  thy  ruling  star 
I  saw,  alas  !  some  dread  event  impend, 
Ere  to  the  main  this  morning  sun  descend, 
But  heaven  reveals  not  what,  or  how,  or  where: 
Warn'd  by  the  sylph,  oh,  pious  maid,  beware  J 
This  to  disclose  is  all  thy  guardian  can: 
Beware  of  all,  but  most  beware  of  man ! 


THE   RAPE   OF   TIIE   LOCK.  67 

He  said ;  when  Shock,  who  thought  she  slept  too  long, 
Leap'd  up,  and  waked  his  mistress  with  his  tongue. 
Twas  then,  Belinda,  if  report  say  true, 
Thy  eyes  first  open'd  on  a  billet-doux ; 
Wounds,  charms,  and  ardours,  were  no  sooner  read, 
But  all  the  vision  vanish'd  from  thy  head. 

And  now,  unveil'd,  the  toilet  stands  display'd, 
Each  silver  vase  in  mystic  order  laid. 
First,  robed  in  white,  the  nymph  intent  adores, 
With  head  uncover'd,  the  cosmetic  powers. 
A  heavenly  image  in  the  glass  appears, 
To  that  she  bends,  to  that  her  eyes  she  rears ; 
The  inferior  priestess,  at  her  altar's  side, 
Trembling  begins  the  sacred  rites  of  pride. 
Unnuuiber'd  treasures  ope  at  once,  and  here 
The  various  offerings  of  the  world  appear ; 
From  each  she  nicely  culls  with  curious  toil, 
And  decks  the  goddess  with  the  gKttering  spoil. 
This  casket  India's  glowing  gems  unlocks, 
And  all  Arabia  breathes  from  yonder  box. 
The  tortoise  here  and  elephant  unite, 
Tranform'd  to  combs,  the  speckled,  and  the  white. 
Here  files  of  pins  extend  their  shining  rows, 
Puffs,  powders,  patches,  bibles,  billets-doux. 
Now  awful  beauty  puts  on  all  its  arms  ; 
The  fair  each  moment  rises  hi  her  charms, 
Ke pairs  her  smiles,  awakens  every  grace, 
And  calls  forth  all  the  wonders  of  her  face  ; 
Sees  by  degrees  a  purer  blush  arise, 
And  keener  lightnings  quicken  in  her  eyes. 
The  busy  sylphs1  surround  their  darling  care, 
These  set  the  head,  and  those  divide  the  hair, 
Some  fold  the  sleeve,  whilst  others  plait  the  gown ; 
And  Betty's  praised  for  labours  not  her  own. 

CANTO   SECOND. 

NOT  with  more  glories,  in  the  ethereal  plain, 
The  sun  first  rises  o'er  the  purpled  main, 
Than,  issuing  forth,  the  rival  of  his  beams 
Launch'd  on  the  bosom  of  the  silver  Thames. 
1  Ancient  traditions  of  the  rabbis  relate,  that  several  of  the  fallen 
angels  became  amoroui  of  women,  and  particularize  some ;  among  the 
rest,  Asael,  who  was  enamoured  with  Naamah,  the  wife  of  Noah,  or  of 
Ham;  and  who,  continuing  impenitent,  still  presides  over  the  women's 
toilets. 


68  THE  RAPE   OF  THE   LOCK. 

Fair  nymphs  and  well-dress'd  youths  around  her  shone, 

But  every  eye  was  fix'd  on  her  alone. 

On  her  white  breast  a  sparkling  cross  she  wore 

Which  Jews  might  kiss,  and  Infidels  adore. 

Her  lively  looks  a  sprightly  mind  disclose, 

Quick  as  her  eyes,  and  as  unfix'd  as  those  : 

f Favours  to  none,  to  all  she  smiles  extends ; 

>,Oft  she  rejects,  but  never  once  offends. 

i;' Bright  as  the  sun,  her  eyes  the  gazers  strike, 

£And  like  the  sun,  they  shine  on  all  alike. 
Tel  graceful  ease,  and  sweetness  void  of  pride, 
Might  hide  her  faults,  if  belles  had  faults  to  hide  : 

£lfto  her  share  some  female  errors  fall, 

'^Look  on  her  face,  and  you'll  forget  'em  all. 

This  nymph,  to  the  destruction  of  mankind, 
Nourished  two  locks,  which  graceful  hung  behind 
In  equal  curls,  and  well  conspired  to  deck 
With  shining  ringlets  the  smooth  ivory  neck. 
Love  in  these  labyrinths  his  slaves  detains, 
And  mighty  hearts  are  held  in  slender  chains. 
With  hairy  springes  we  the  birds  betray, 
Slight  lines  of  hair  surprise  the  finny  prey, 
Fair  tresses  man's  imperial  race  insnare, 

^And  beauty  draws  us  with  a  single  hair/ 

The  adventurous  Baron  the  bright  locks  admired ; 
He  saw,  he  wish'd,  and  to  the  prize  aspired. 
Resolved  to  win,  he  meditates  the  way, 
By  force  to  ravish,  or  by  fraud  betray  ; 
For  when  success  a  lover's  toil  attends, 
Few  ask,  if  fraud  or  force  attain'd  his  ends. 

For  this,  ere  Phoebus  rose,  he  had  implored 
Propitious  Heaven,  and  every  power  adored, 
But  chiefly  Love — to  Love  an  altar  built, 
Of  twelve  vast  French  romances,  neatly  gilt. 
There  lay  three  garters,  half  a  pair  of  gloves, 
And  all  the  trophies  of  his  former  loves  ; 
With  tender  billets-doux  he  lights  the  pyre, 
And  breathes  three  amorous  sighs  to  raise  the  fire. 
Then  prostrate  falls,  and  begs  with  ardent  eyes 
Soon  to  obtain,  and  long  possess  the  prize  : 
The  powers  gave  ear,  and  granted  half  his  prayer, 
The  rest,  the  winds  dispersed  in  empty  air. 
But  now  secure  the  painted  vessel  glides, 
The  sunbeams  trembling  on  the -floating  tides : 


THE   RAPE   OF  THE   LOCK.  6S 

While  melting  music  steals  upon  the  sky, 
And  soften'd  sounds  along  the  waters  die  ; 
JSmooth  flow  the  waves,  the  zephyrs  gently  play, 
VJJeJinda  smiled,  and  all  the  world  was  gay-^ 
All  but  the  sylph ;  with  careful  thoughts  opprest, 
The  impending  woe  sat  heavy  on  his  breast. 
He  summons  straight  his  denizens  of  air  ; 
The  lucid  squadrons  round  the  sails  repair : 
Soft  o'er  the  shrouds  aerial  whispers  breathe, 
That  seem'd  but  zephyrs  to  the  tram  beneath. 
Some  to  the  sun  their  insect-wings  unfold, 
Waft  on  the  breeze,  or  sink  in  clouds  of  gold  ; 
Transparent  forms,  too  fine  for  mortal  sight, 
Their  fluid  bodies  half  dissolved  in  light, 
Loose  to  the  wind  their  airy  garments  flew, 
Thin  glittering  textures  of  the  filmy  dew, 
Dipt  in  the  richest  tincture  of  the  skies, 
Where  light  disports  in  ever-mingling  dyes  ; 
While  every  beam  new  transient  colours  flings, 
Colours  that  change  whene'er  they  wave  their  wings, 
Amid  the  circle,  on  the  gilded  mast, 
Superior  by  the  head,  was  Ariel  placed  ; 
His  purple  pinions  opening  to  the  sun, 
He  raised  his  azure  wand,  and  thus  begun  : — 

Ye  sylphs  and  sylphids,  to  your  chief  give  ear, 
Fays,  fairies,  genii,  elves,  and  demons,  hear ! 
Ye  know  the  spheres,  and  various  tasks  assign'd 
By  laws  eternal  to  the  aerial  kind. 
Some  in  the  fields  of  purest  etherplay, 
And  bask  and  whiten  in  the  blaze  of  day ; 
Some  guide  the  course  of  wandering  orbs  on  high, 
Or  roll  the  planets  through  the  boundless  sky ; 
Some,  less  refined,  beneath  the  moon's  pale  light 
Pursue  the  stars  that  shoot  athwart  the  night, 
Or  suck  the  mists  in  grosser  air  below, 
Or  dip  their  pinions  in  the  painted  bow, 
Or  brew  fierce  tempests  on  the  wintry  main, 
Or  o'er  the  glebe  distil  the  kindly  rain  ; 
Others  on  earth  o'er  human  race  preside, 
Watch  all  their  ways,  and  all  their  actions  guide : 
Of  these  the  chief  the  care  of  nations  own, 
And  guard  with  arms  divine  the  British  throne. 

Our  humbler  province  is  to  tend  the  fair, 
Not  a  less  pleasing,  though  less  glorious  care  ; 
8 


70  THE  RAPE   OF  THE   LOCK. 

To  save  the  powder  from  too  rude  a  gale, 
Nor  let  the  imprison 'd  essences  exhale  ; 
To  draw  fresh  colours  from  the  vernal  flowers ; 
To  steal  from  rainbows  ere  they  drop  in  showers 
A  brighter  wash  ;  to  curl  their  waving  hairs, 
Assist  their  blushes,  and  inspire  their  airs ; 
Nay  oft,  in  dreams,  invention  we  bestow, 
To  change  a  flounce,  or  add  a  furbelow. 

This  day,  black  omens  threat  the  brightest  fair 
That  e'er  deserved  a  watchful  spirit's  care  ; 
Some  dire  disaster,  or  by  force  or  slight ; 
But  what,  or  where,  the  fates  have  wrapt  in  night. 
Whether  the  nymph  shall  break  Diana's  law, 
Or  some  frail  China  jar  receive  a  flaw  ; 
Or  stain  her  honour,  or  her  new  brocade  ; 
Forget  her  prayers,  or  miss  a  masquerade  ; 
Or  lose  her  heart,  or  necklace,  at  a  ball ; 
Or  whether  Heaven  has  doom'd  that  Shock  must  falL 
Haste  then,  ye  spirits  !  to  your  charge  repair : 
The  fluttering  fan  be  Zephyretta's  care  ; 
The  drops  to  thee,  Brillante,  we  consign  ; 
And,  Momentilla,  let  the  watch  be  thine  ; 
Do  thou,  Crispissa,  tend  her  favourite  Lock  ; 
Ariel  himself  shall  be  the  guard  of  Shock. 

To  fifty  chosen  sylphs,  of  special  note, 
We  trust  the  important  charge,  the  petticoat : 
Oft  have  we  known  that  sevenfold  fence  to  fail, 
Though  stiff  with  hoops  and  arm'd  with  ribs  of  whale; 
Form  a  strong  line  about  the  silver  bound, 
And  guard  the  wide  circumference  around. 

Whatever  spirit,  careless  of  his  charge, 
His  post  neglects,  or  leaves  the  fair  at  large, 
Shall  feel  sharp  vengeance  soon  o'ertake  his  sins, 
Be  stopp'd  in  vials,  or  transfi x'd  with  pins  ; 
Or  plunged  in  lakes  of  bitter  washes  lie, 
Or  wedged  whole  ages  in  a  bodkin's  eye  : 
Gums  and  pomatums  shall  his  flight  restrain, 
While  clogg'd  he  beats  his  silken  wings  in  vain ; 
Or  alum  styptics,  with  contracting  power, 
Shrink  his  thin  essence  like  a  rivel'd  flower : 
Or,  as  Ixion  fix'd,  the  wretch  shall  feel 
The  giddy  motion  of  the  whirling  mill, 
In  fumes  of  burning  chocolate  shall  glow, 
And  tremble  at  the  sea  that  froths  below ! 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE   LOCK.  71 

He  spoke  ;  the  spirits  from  the  sails  descend : 
Some,  orb  in  orb,  around  the  nymph  extend  ; 
Some  thread  the  mazy  ringlets  of  her  hair ; 
Some  hang  upon  the  pendants  of  her  ear  ; 
With  beating  hearts  the  dire  event  they  wait, 
Anxious,  and  trembling  for  the  birth  of  fete. 


CANTO  THIRD. 

CLOSE  by  those  meads,  for  ever  crown'd  with  flowers, 
Where  Thames  with  pride  surveys  his  rising  towers, 
There  stands  a  structure  of  majestic  frame,    [name. 
Which  from  the  neighbouring  Hampton  takes  its 
Here  Britain's  statesmen  oft  the  fall  foredoom 
Of  foreign  tyrants,  and  of  nymphs  at  home  ; 
Here  thou,  great  ANNA  !  whom  three  realms  obey, 
Dost  sometimes  counsel  take — and  sometimes  tea. 

Hither  the  heroes  and  the  nymphs  resort, 
To  taste  awhile  the  pleasures  of  a  court ; 
In  various  talk  the  instructive  hours  they  pass'd 
Who  gave  the  ball,  or  paid  the  visit  last ; 
One  speaks  the  glory  of  the  British  Queen, 
And  one  describes  a  charming  Indian  screen  ; 
A  third  interprets  motions,  looks,  and  eyes  ; 
At  every  word  a  reputation  dies. 
Snuff,  or  the  fan,  supplies  each  pause  of  chat, 
With  singing,  laughing,  ogling,  and  all  that. 

Meanwhile,  declining  from  the  noon  of  day, 
The  sun  obliquely  shoots  his  burning  ray : 
The  hungry  judges  soon  the  sentence  sign, 
And  wretches  hang  that  jurymen  may  dine  ; 
The  merchant  from  the  Exchange  returns  in  peace, 
And  the  long  labours  of  the  toilet  cease. 
Belinda  now,  whom  thirst  of  fame  invites, 
Burns  to  encounter  two  adventurous  knights, 
At  ombre  singly  to  decide  their  doom  ; 
And  swells  her  breast  with  conquests  yet  to  come. 
Straight  the  three  bands  prepare  in  arms  to  join, 
Each  band  the  number  of  the  sacred  Nine. 
Soon  as  she  spreads  her  hand,  the  aerial  guard 
Descend,  and  sit  on  each  important  card  : 
First  Ariel  perch'd  upon  a  Matadore, 
Then  each  according  to  the  rank  they  bore ; 


72  THE   RAPE   OP   THE    LOCK. 

For  sylphs,  yet  mindful  of  their  ancient  race, 
Are,  as  when  women,  wondrous  fond  of  place. 

Behold,  four  kings,  in  majesty  revered, 
With  hoary  whiskers  and  a  forky  beard  ; 
And  four  fair  queens  whose  hands  sustain  a  flower, 
The  expressive  emblem  of  their  softer  power ; 
Four  knaves  in  garbs  succinct,  a  trusty  band, 
Caps  on  their  heads,  and  halberts  in  their  hand  ; 
And  party-colour'd  troops,  a  shining  train, 
Draw  forth  to  confbat  on  the  velvet  plain. 

The  skilful  nymph  reviews  her  force  with  care  ; 
Let  spades  be  trumps !  she  said,  and  trumps  they  were 

Now  move  to  war  her  sable  Matadores, 
In  show  like  leaders  of  the  swarthy  Moors. 
Spadillio  first,  unconquerable  lord  ! 
Led  off  two  captive  trumps,  and  swept  the  board. 
As  many  more  Manillio  forced  to  yield, 
And  march'd  a  victor  from  the  verdant  field. 
Him  Basto  follow'd,  but  his  fate  more  hard 
Gain'd  but  one  trump  and  one  plebeian  card. 
With  his  broad  sabre  next,  a  chief  in  years, 
The  hoary  majesty  of  spades  appears, 
Puts  forth  one  manly  leg,  to  sight  reveal'd, 
The  rest,  his  many-colour'd  robe  conceal'd. 
The  rebel  knave,  who  dares  his  prince  engage, 
Proves  the  just  victim  of  his  royal  rage. 
Even  mighty  Pain,  that  kings  and  queens  o'erthrew, 
And  mow'd  down  armies  in  the  fights  of  Loo,        • 
Sad  chance  of  war !  now  destitute  of  aid, 
Falls  undistinguish'd  by  the  victor  spade  ! 

Thus  far  both  armies  to  Belinda  yield. 
Now  to  the  Baron  Fate  inclines  the  field  ; 
His  warlike  amazon  her  host  invades, 
The  imperial  consort  of  the  crown  of  Spades. 
The  Clubs'  black  tyrant  first  her  victim  died, 
Spite  of  his  haughty  mien  and  barbarous  pride  : 
What  boots  the  regal  circle  on  his  head, 
His  giant  limbs,  in  state  unwieldy  spread  ; 
That  long  behind  he  trails  his  pompous  robe, 
And,  of  all  monarchs,  only  grasps  the  globe  1 

The  Baron  now  his  Diamonds  pours  apace  ; 
The  embroider'd  King  who  shows  but  half  his  face, 
And  his  refulgent  queen,  with  powers  combined 
Of  broken  troops  an  easy  conquest  find. 


THE   RAPE   OF  TI1E   LOCK.  73 

Clubs,  Diamonds,  Hearts,  in  wild  disorder  seen, 

With  throngs  promiscuous  strow  the  level  green. 

Thus  when  dispersed  a  routed  army  runs, 

Of  Asia's  troops,  and  Afric's  sable  sons, 

With  like  confusion  different  nations  fly, 

Of  various  habit,  and  of  various  dye; 

The  pierced  battalions  disunited  fall, 

In  heaps  on  heaps ;  one  fate  o'erwhelms  them  alL 

The  Knave  of  Diamonds  tries  his  wily  arts, 
And  wins  (oh  shameful  chance !)  the  Queen  of  Hearts. 
At  this,  the  blood  the  virgin's  cheek  forsook, 
A  livid  paleness  spreads  o'er  all  her  look ; 
She  sees,  and  trembles  at  the  approaching  ill, 
Just  in  the  jaws  of  ruin,  and  codille. 
And  now  (as  oft  in  some  distemper'd  state) 
On  one  nice  trick  depends  the  general  fate ; 
An  Ace  of  Hearts  steps  forth ;  the  King,  unseen, 
Lurk'd  in  her  hand,  and  mourn'd  his  captive  Queen : 
He  springs  to  vengeance  with  an  eager  pace, 
And  falls  like  thunder  on  the  prostrate  Ace. 
The  nymph  exulting  fills  with  shouts  the  sky; 
The  walls,  the  woods,  and  long  canals  reply. 

Oh,  thoughtless  mortals !  ever  blind  to  fate, 
Too  soon  dejected,  and  too  soon  elate. 
Sudden  these  honours  shall  be  snatch'd  away, 
And  cursed  for  ever  this  victorious  day. 
3U  For  lo !  the  board  with  cups  and  spoons  is  crown'd, 
The  berries  crackle,  and  the  mill  turns  round ; 
On  shining  altars  of  Japan  they  raise 
The  silver  lamp  ;  the  fiery  spirits  blaze : 
From  silver  spouts  the  grateful  liquors  glide, 
While  China's  earth  receives  the  smoking  tide  : 
At  once  they  gratify  their  scent  and  taste, 
And  frequent  cups  prolong  the  rich  repast. 
Straight  hover  round  the  fair  her  airy  band  ; 
Some,  as  she  sipp'd,  the  fuming  liquor  fann'd, 
Some  o'er  her  lap  their  careful  plumes  display'd, 
Trembling,  and  conscious  of  the  rich  brocade. 
Coffee  (which  makes  the  politician  wise, 
And  see  through  all  things  with  his  half-shut  eyes) 
Sent  up  in  vapours  to  the  Baron's  brain 
New  stratagems,  the  radiant  Lock  to  gain. 
Ah  cease,  rash  youth!  desist  ere  'tis  too  late, 
Fear  the  just  gods,  and  think  of  Scylla's  fate! 

8* 


74  THE   RAPE   OF  THE  LOCK. 

Changed  to  a  bird,  and  sent  to  flit  in  air, 
She  dearly  pays  for  Nisus'  injured  hair ! 

But  when  to  mischief  mortals  bend  their  will, 
How  soon  they  find  fit  instruments  of  ill ! 
Just  then  Clarissa  drew,  with  tempting  grace, 
A  two-edged  weapon  from  her  shining  case: 
So  ladies  in  romance  assist  their  knight, 
Present  the  spear,  and  arm  him  for  the  fight. 
He  takes  the  gift  with  reverence,  and  extends 
The  little  engine  on  his  fingers'  enda ; 
This  just  behind  Belinda's  neck  he  spread, 
As  o'er  the  fragrant  steams  she  bends  her  head. 
Swift  to  the  Lock  a  thousand  sprites  repair, 
A  thousand  wings,  by  turns,  blow  back  the  hair  ; 
And  thrice  they  twitch 'd  the  diamond  in  her  ear ; 
Thrice  she  look  d  back,  and  thrice  the  foe  drew  near. 
Just  in  that  instant  anxious  Ariel  sought 
The  close  recesses  of  the  virgin's  thought: 
As  on  the  nosegay  in  her  breast  reclined, 
He  watch'd  the  ideas  rising  in  her  mind, 
Sudden  he  view'd,  in  spite  of  all  her  art, 
.  An  earthly  lover  lurking  at  her  heart. 
Amazed,  confused,  he  found  his  power  expired, 
Resign'd  to  fate,  and  with  a  sigh  retired. 

The  peer  now  spreads  the  glittering  forfex  wide, 
To  inclose  the  Lock ;  now  joins  it,  to  divide. 
Even  then,  before  the  fatal  engine  closed, 
A  wretched  sylph  too  fondly  interposed  ; 
Fate  urged  the  shears,  and  cut  the  sylph  in  twain, 
(But  airy  substance  soon  unites  again  ;) 
The  meeting  points  the  sacred  hair  dissever 
From  the  fair  head,  for  ever,  and  for  ever  ! 

Then  flash'd  the  living  lightning  from  her  eyes, 
And  screams  of  horror  rend  the  affrighted  skies ; 
Not  louder  shrieks  to  pitying  heaven  are  cast, 
When  husbands,  or  when  lap-dogs,  breathe  their  last; 
Or  when  rich  China  vessels,  fallen  from  high, 
In  glittering  dust  and  painted  fragments  lie ! 

Let  wreaths  of  triumph  now  my  temples  twine, 
(The  victor  cried,)  the  glorious  prize  is  mine ! 
While  fish  in  streams,  or  birds  delight  in  air, 
Or  in  a  coach-and-six  the  British  fair, 
As  long  as  Atalantis  shall  be  read, 
Or  the  small  pillow  grace  a  lady's  bed, 


p.  74. 


1UK    KAl'K   OK   1UE    LOCK. 

iCe  peer  now  spreads  the  glittering  lorlex  wi.lo, 
To  enclose  (ho  lock;  now  joins  It,  to  divide. 


THE  RAPE  OP  THE   LOCK.  70 

While  visits  shall  be  paid  on  solemn  days, 
When  numerous  wax-lights  in  bright  order  blaze. 
While  nymphs  take  treats,  or  assignations  give, 
So  long  my  honour,  name,  and  praise,  shall  live ! 
What  time  would  spare,  from  steel  receives  its  date, 
And  monuments,  like  men,  submit  to  fate ! 
Steel  could  the  labour  of  the  gods  destroy, 
And  strike  to  dust  the  imperial  towers  of  Troy 
Steel  could  the  works  of  mortal  pride  confound, 
And  hew  triumphal  arches  to  the  ground. 
What  wonder  then,  fair  nymph !  thy  hairs  should  feel 
The  conquering  force  of  unresisted  steel? 


CANTO  FOURTH. 

Bur  anxious  cares  the  pensive  nymph  oppress'd, 
And  secret  passions  labour'd  in  her  breast 
Not  youthful  kings  in  battle  seized  alive, 
Not  scornful  virgins  who  their  charms  survive, 
Not  ardent  lovers  robb'd  of  all  their  bliss, 
Not  ancient  ladies  when  refused  a  kiss, 
Not  tyrants  fierce  that  unrepenting  die, 
Not  Cynthia  when  her  manteau's  pinn'd  awry, 
E'er  felt  such  rage,  resentment,  and  despair, 
As  thou,  sad  virgin !  for  thy  ravish'd  hair. 

For,  that  sad  moment,  when  the  sylphs  withdrew, 
And  Ariel  weeping  from  Belinda  flew, 
Umbriel,  a  dusky,  melancholy  sprite, 
As  ever  sullied  the  fair  face  of  light, 
Down  to  the  central  earth,  his  proper  scene, 
Kepair'd  to  search  the  gloomy  cave  of  Spleen. 

Swift  on  his  sooty  pinions  flits  the  gnome, 
And  in  a  vapour  reach'd  the  dismal  dome. 
No  cheerful  breeze  this  sullen  region  knows, 
The  dreaded  east  is  all  the  wind  that  blows. 
Here  in  a  grotto  shelter'd  close  from  air, 
And  screen'd  in  shades  from  day's  detested  glare, 
She  sighs  for  ever  on  her  pensive  bed, 
Pain  at  her  side,  and^tegrim  at  her  head 

Two  handmaids  wait  the  throne :  alike  in  place, 
But  differing  far  in  figure  and  in  face. 
Here  stood  Ill-nature,  like  an  ancient  maid, 
Her  wrinkled  form  in  black  and  white  array'd, 


76  THE   RAPE   OF  THE  LOCK. 

"With  store  of  prayers,  for  mornings,  nights,  and  noons, 
Her  hand  is  fill'd  ;  her  bosom  with  lampoons. 

There  Affectation,  with  a  sickly  mien, 
Shows  in  her  cheek  the  roses  of  eighteen  ; 
Practised  to  lisp,  and  hang  the  head  aside, 
Faints  into  airs,  and  languishes  with  pride, 
On  the  rich  quilt  sinks  with  becoming  woe, 
Wrapt  in  a  gown,  for  sickness,  and  for  show. 
The  fair  ones  feel  such  maladies  as  these. 
When  each  new  night-dress  gives  a  new'  disease. 

A  constant  vapour  o'er  the  palace  flies  ; 
Strange  phantoms  rising  as  the  mists  arise  ; 
Dreadful,  as  hermits'  dreams  in  haunted  shades, 
Or  bright,  as  visions  of  expiring  maids. 
Now  glaring  fiends,  and  snakes  on  rolling  spires, 
Pale  spectres,  gaping  tombs,  and  purple  fires: 
Now  lakes  of  liquid  gold,  Elysian  scenes, 
And  crystal  domes,  and  angels  in  machines. 

Unnumber'd  throngs  on  every  side  are  seen, 
Of  bodies  changed  to  various  forms  by  Spleen. 
Here  living  tea-pots  stand,  one  arm  held  out, 
One  bent  ;  the  handle  this,  and  that  the  spout  : 
A  pipkin  there,  like  Homer's  tripod,  walks  ;l 
Here  sighs  a  jar,  and  there  a  goose-pie  talks  ;2 
Men  prove  with  child,  as  powerful  fancy  works, 
And  maids,  turn'd  bottles,  call  aloud  for  corks. 

Safe  pass'd  the  gnome  through  this  fantastic  band, 
A  branch  of  healiug  spleenwort  in  his  hand. 
Then  thus  address'd  the  power  —  Hail,  way  ward  queen  ! 
Who  rule  the  sex  to  fifty  from  fifteen: 
Parent  of  vapours  and  of  female  wit, 
Who  give  the  hysteric,  or  poetic  fit, 
On  various  tempers  act  by  various  ways, 
Make  some  take  physic,  others  scribble  plays  ; 
Who  cause  the  proud  their  visits  to  delay, 
And  send  the  godly  in  a  pet  to  pray. 
A  nymph  there  is  that  all  thy  power  disdains, 
And  thousands  more  in  equal  mirth  maintains. 
But  oh  !  if  e'er  thy  gnome  could  spoil  a  grace, 
Or  raise  a  pimple  on  a  beauteous  face, 


See  Horn.  Iliad,  xviii.  of  Vulcan's  walking  tripoda. 
2  Alludes  to  a  real  fact,  a  lady  of  distinction  imagined  herself  in  this 


THE   RAPE   OF   THE   LOCK.  77 

Like  citron-waters  matrons'  cheeks  inflame, 
Or  change  complexions  at  a  losing  game ; 
If  e'er  with  airy  horns  I  planted  heads, 
Or  rumpled  petticoats,  or  tumbled  beds, 
Or  caused  suspicion  when  no  soul  was  rude, 
Or  discomposed  the  head-dress  of  a  prude, 
Or  e'er  to  costive  lap-dog  gave  disease, 
Which  not  the  tears  of  brightest  eyes  could  ease : 
Hear  me,  and  touch  Belinda  with  chagrin, 
That  single  act  gives  half  the  world  the  spleen. 

The  goddess  with  a  discontented  air 
Seems  to  reject  him,  though  she  grants  his  prayer. 
A  wondrous  bag  with  both  her  hands  she  binds, 
Like  that  where  once  Ulysses  held  the  winds  ; 
There  she  collects  the  force  of  female  lungs, 
Sighs,  sobs,  and  passions,  and  the  war  of  tongues. 
A  vial  next  she  tills  with  fainting  fears, 
Soft  sorrows,  melting  griefs,  and  Howing  tears. 
The  gnome  rejoicing  bears  her  gifts  away, 
Spreads  his  black  wings,  and  slowly  mounts  to  day. 

Sunk  in  Thalestris'  arms  the  nymph  he  found, 
Her  eyes  dejected,  and  her  hair  unbound. 
Full  o'er  their  heads  the  swelling  bag  he  rent, 
And  all  the  Furies  issued  at  the  vent. 
Belinda  burns  with  more  than  mortal  ire, 
And  fierce  Thalestris  fans  the  rising  fire. 
O  wretched  maid  !  she  spread  her  hands,  and  cried, 
(While  Hampton's  echoes,  Wretched  maid '  replied,) 
Was  it  for  this  you  took  such  constant  care 
The  bodkin,  comb,  and  essence,  to  prepare  ? 
For  this  your  locks  in  paper  durance  bound  ? 
For  this  with  torturing  irons  wreathed  around? 
For  this  with  fillets  strain'd  your  tender  head  ? 
And  bravely  bore  the  double  loads  of  lead? 
Gods !  shall  the  ravisher  display  your  hair, 
While  the  fops  envy,  and  the  ladies  stare  ! 
Honour  forbid !  at  whose  unrivall'd  shrine 
Ease,  pleasure,  virtue,  all  our  sex  resign, 
Methinks  already  I  your  tears  survey, 
Already  hear  the  horrid  things  they  say; 
Already  see  you  a  degraded  toast, 
And  all  your  honour  in  a  whisper  lost ! 
How  shall  I,  then,  your  hapless  fame  defend  I 
Twill  then  be  infamy  to  seem  your  friend  J 


78  THE   RAPE   OF  THE   LOCK. 

And  shall  this  prize,  the  inestimable  prize, 
Exposed  through  crystal  to  the  gazing  eyes, 
And  heighten 'd  by  the  diamond's  circling  rays, 
On  that  rapacious  hand  for  ever  blaze? 
Sooner  shall  grass  in  Hyde-park  Circus  grow, 
And  wits  take  lodgings  in  the  sound  of  Bow ; 
Sooner  let  earth,  air,  sea,  to  chaos  fall, 
Men,  monkeys,  lap-dogs,  parrots,  perish  all! 

She  said;  then  raging  to  Sir  Plume  repairs, 
And  bids  her  beau  demand  the  precious  hairs: 
(Sir  Plume,  of  amber  snuff-box  justly  vain, 
And  the  nice  conduct  of  a  clouded  cane,) 
With  earnest  eyes,  and  round,  unthinking  fao>, 
He  first  the  snuff-box  open'd,  then  the  case, 
And  thus  broke  out — "  My  lord,  why,  what  th«  devil! 

t(  TJ      An\    .]..,,,,,  -4-"Urt  l^rtt,-  f    '-IV^rt  r*r*A   -.T^  ,    i  l        .:..:! 


rappi 

It  grieves  me  much  (replied  the  Peer  again) 
Who  speaks  so  well  should  ever  speak  in  vain. 
But  by  this  lock,  this  sacred  lock.  I  swear, 
(Which  never  more  shall  join  its  parted  hair; 
Which  never  more  its  honours  shall  renew, 
Clipp'd  from  the  lovely  head  where  late  it  grew,) 
That  while  my  nostrils  draw  the  vital  air, 
This  hand,  which  won  it,  shall  for  ever  wear. 
He  spoke,  and  speaking,  in  proud  triumph  spread 
The  long-contended  honours  of  her  head. 

But  Umbriel,  hateful  gnome  !  forbears  not  so ; 
He  breaks  the  vial  whence  the  sorrows  flcfcv. 
Then  see !  the  nymph  in  beauteous  grief  appears, 
Her  eyes  half-languishing,  half-drown'd  in  tears ; 
On  her  heaved  bosom  hung  her  drooping  head, 
Which  with  a  sigh  she  raised ;  and  thus  she  said : 

For  ever  cursed  be  this  detested  day, 
Which  snatch'd  my  best,  my  favourite  curl  away ! 
Happy  !  ah  ten  times  happy  had  I  been, 
If  Hampton-Court  these  eyes  had  never  seen  ! 
Yet  am  not  I  the  first  mistaken  maid, 
By  love  of  courts  to  numerous  ills  betray'd. 
Oh  had  I  rather  unadmired  remain'd 
In  some  lone  isle,  or  distant  northern  land ; 
Where  the  gilt  chariot  never  marks  the  way, 
Where  none  learn  ombre,  none  e'er  taste  Bohea ! 


TIIE   RAPE   OF  THE   LOCK.  79 

There  kept  my  charms  concealed  from  mortal  eye, 
Like  roses,  that  in  deserts  bloom  and  die. 
What  moved  my  mind  with  youthful  lords  to  roam  1 
Oh  had  I  staid,  and  said  my  prayers  at  home  ! 
Twas  this  the  morning  omens  seem'd  to  tell, 
Thrice  from  my  trembling  hand  the  patch-box  fell ; 
The  tottering  China  shook  without  a  wind, 
Nay,  Poll  sat  mute,  and  Shock  was  most  unkind ! 
A  sylph,  too,  warn'd  me  of  the  threats  of  fate, 
In  mystic  visions,  now  believed  too  late ! 
See  the  poor  remnants  of  these  slighted  hairs ! 
My  hands  shall  rend  what  even  thy  rapine  spares: 
These  in  two  sable  ringlets  taught  to  break, 
Once  gave  new  beauties  to  the  snowy  neck ; 
The  sister-lock  now  sits  uncouth,  alone, 
And  in  its  fellow's  fate  foresees  its  own ; 
Uncurl'd  it  hangs,  the  fatal  shears  demands, 
And  tempts,  once  more,  thy  sacrilegious  hands. 
Oh  hadst  thou,  cruel !  been  content  to  seize 
Hairs  less  iu  sight,  or  any  hairs  but  these ! 


CANTO  FIFTH. 

SHE  said:  the  pitying  audience  melt  in  tears; 
But  Fate  and  Jove  had  stopp'd  the  Baron's  ears. 
In  vain  Thalestris  with  reproach  assails, 
For  who  can  move  when  lair  Belinda  fails  ? 
Not  half  so  fix'd  the  Trojan  could  remain, 
While  Anna  begg'd  and  Dido  raged  in  vain. 
Then  grave  Clarissa  graceful  waved  her  fan ; 
Silence  ensued,  and  thus  the  nymph  began : — 

Say,  why  are  beauties  praised  and  honour'd  most 
The  wise  man's  passion,  and  the  vain  man's  toast  ? 
Why  deck'd  with  all  that  land  and  sea  afford, 
Why  angels  call'd,  and  angel-like  adored  ? 
Why  round  our  coaches  crowd  the  white-gloved  beaux, 
Why  bows  the  side-box  from  its  inmost  rows  ? 
How  vain  are  all  these  glories,  all  our  pains, 
Unless  good  sense  preserve  what  beauty  gains : 
That  men  may  say,  when  we  the  front-box  grace, 
Behold  the  first  in  virtue  as  in  face ! 
Oh  !  if  to  dance  all  night,  and  dress  all  day, 
Charm'd  the  small-pox,  or  chased  old-age  away; 


80  THE  RAPE   OP  THE   LOCK. 

Who  would  not  scorn  what  housewife's  cares  produce^ 
Or  who  would  learn  one  earthly  thing  of  use  ?         * 
To  patch,  nay  ogle,  might  become  a  saint, 
Nor  could  it  sure  be  such  a  sin  to  paint. 
But  since,  alas  !  frail  beauty  must  decay, 
Curl'd  or  uncurl'd,  since  locks  will  turn  to  grey ; 
Since,  painted  or  not  painted,  all  shall  fade, 
And  she  who  scorns  a  man  must  die  a  maid ; 
What  then  remains  but  well  our  power  to  use,' 
And  keep  good  humour  still  whate'er  we  lose  ? 
And  trust  me,  dear  !  good-humour  can  prevail, 
When  airs,  and  flights,  and  screams,  and  scolding  fail; 
Beauties  in  vain  their  pretty  eyes  may  roll ; 
Charms  strike  the  sight,  but  merit  wins  the  soul. 

So  spoke  the  dame,  but  no  applause  ensued ; 
Belinda  frown'd,  Thalestris  call'd  her  prude. 
To  arms,  to  arms !  the  fierce  virago  cries, 
And  swift  as  lightning  to  the  combat  flies. 
All  side  in  parties,  and  begin  the  attack ; 
Fans  clap,  silks  rustle,  and  tough  whalebones  crack ; 
Heroes'  and  heroines'  shouts  confusedly  rise, 
And  bass  and  treble  voices  strike  the  skies. 
No  common  weapons  in  their  hands  are  found, 
Like  gods  they  fight,  nor  dread  a  mortal  wound. 

So  when  bold  Homer  makes  the  gods  engage, 
And  heavenly  breasts  with  human  passions  rage ; 
'Gainst  Pallas.  Mars;  Latona,  Hermes  arms; 
And  all  Olympus  rings  with  loud  alarms : 
Jove's  thunder  roars,  heaven  trembles  all  around, 
Blue  Neptune  storms,  the  bellowing  deeps  resound : 
Earth  shakes  her  nodding  towers,  the  ground  gives  way, 
And  the  pale  ghosts  start  at  the  flash  of  day ! 

Triumphant  Umbriel,  on  a  sconce's  height 
Clapp'd  his  glad  wings,  and  sate  to  view  the  fight: 
Propp'd  on  their  bodkin  spears,  the  sprites  survey 
The  growing  combat,  or  assist  the  fray. 

While  through  the  press  enraged  Thalestris  flies, 
And  scatters  death  around  from  both  her  eyes, 
A  beau  and  witling  perish'd  in  the  throng, 
One  died  in  metaphor,  and  one  in  song. 
"  O  cruel  nymph  !  a  living  death  I  bear  !" 
Cried  Dapperwit,  and  sunk  beside  his  chair. 
A  mournful  glance  Sir  Fopling  upwards  cast, 
"Those  eyes  are  made  so  killing  !" — was  his  last. 


THE    KAl'ii   OF   'JlIK   LOCK.  81 

Thus  on  Maeander's  flowery  margin  lies 
The  expiring  swa,n,  and  as  lie  sings  he  dies. 

When  bold  Sir  Plume  had  drawn  Clarissa  down, 
Chloe  stepp'd  in,  and  kill'd  him  with  a  frown  ; 
She  smiled  to  see  the  doughty  hero  slain, 
But  at  her  smile  the  beau  revived  again. 

Now  Jove  suspends  his  golden  scales  in  ah", 
Weighs  the  men's  wits  against  the  lady's  hair ; 
The  doubtful  beam  long  nods  from  side  to  side  ; 
At  length  the  wits  mount  up,  the  hairs  subside. 

See  !  fierce  Belinda  on  the  Baron  flies, 
With  more  than  usual  lightning  in  her  eyes: 
Nor  fear'd  the  chief  the  unequal  fight  to  try, 
Who  sought  no  more  than  on  his  foe  to  die. 
But  this  bold  lord,  with  manly  strength  endued, 
She  with  one  finger  and  a  thumb  subdued: 
Just  where  the  breath  of  life  his  nostrils  drew, 
A  charge  of  snuff  the  wily  virgin  threw  j 
The  gnomes  direct,  to  every  atom  just, 
The  pungent  grains  of  titillating  dust. 
Sudden  with  starting  tears  each  eye  o'erflows,    * 
And  the  high  dome  re-echoes  to  his  nose. 

Now  meet  thy  fate  !  incensed  Belinda  cried, 
And  drew  a  deadly  bodkin  from  her  side. 
(The  same,  his  ancient  personage  to  deck, 
Her  great-great-grandsire  wore  about  his  neck, 
In  three  seal-rings ;  which  after,  melted  down, 
Form'd  a  vast  buckle  for  his  widow's  gown: 
Her  infant  grandame's  whistle  next  it  grew, 
The  bells  she  jingled,  and  the  whistle  blew; 
Then  in  a  bodkin  graced  her  mother's  hairs, 
Which  long  she  wore,  and  now  Belinda  wears.) 

Boast  not  my  fall  (he  cried),  insulting  foe  ! 
Thou  by  some  other  shalt  be  laid  as  low. 
Nor  think,  to  die  dejects  my  lofty  mind; 
%  11  that  I  dread  is  leaving  you  behind ! 
Eather  than  so,  ah  !  let  me  still  survive, 
And  burn  in  Cupid's  flames — but  burn  alive. 

Restore  the  Lock  !  she  cries  ;  and  all  around, 
Restore  the  Lock !  the  vaulted  roofs  rebound. 
Not  fierce  Othello,  in  so  loud  a  strain, 
Roar'd  for  the  handkerchief  that  caused  his  pain. 
But  see  how  oft  ambitious  aims  are  cross'd, 
And  chiefs  contend  till  all  the  prize  is  lost ! 
9 


82  THE   KAPE   OF  THE   LOCK. 

The  Lock,  obtain'd  with  guilt,  and  kept  with  pain, 
In  every  place  is  sought,  but  sought  in  vain : 
"With  such  a  prize  no  mortal  must  be  blest, 
So  Heaven  decrees !  with  Heaven  who  can  contest  ? 

Some  thought  it  mounted  to  the  lunar  sphere, 
Since  all  things  lost  on  earth  are  treasured  there. 
There  heroes'  wits  are  kept  in  ponderous  vases, 
And  beaux'  in  snuff-boxes  and  tweezer-cases ; 
H.There  broken  vows  and  death-bed  alms  are  found. 
And  lovers'  hearts  with  ends  of,  riband  bound, 
The  couitier's  promises,  and  sick  men's  prayers, 
The  smiles  of  harlots,  and  the  tears  of  heirs, 
Cages  for  gnats,  and  chains  to  yoke  a  flea, 
Dried  butterflies,  and  tomes  of  casuistry. 

But  trust  the  Muse — she  saw  it  upward  rise, ' 
Though  mark'd  by  none  but  quick,  poetic  eyes : 
(So  Eome's  great  founder  to  the  heavens  withdrew, 
To  Proculus  alone  confess'd  in  view :) 
A  sudden  star,  it  shot  through  liquid  air, 
And  drew  behind  a  radiant  trail  of  hair. 
Not  Berenice's  locks  first  rose  so  bright, 
The  heavens  bespangling  with  dishevell'd  light. 
The  sylphs  behold  it  kindling  as  it  flies, 
And  pleased  pursue  its  progress  through  the  skies. 

This  the  beau  monde  shall  from  the  Mall  survey, 
And  hail  with  music  its  propitious  ray  ; 
m         This  the  blest  lover  shall  for  Venus  take, 
And  send  up  vows  from  Rosamonda's  lake  ; 
This  Partridge  soon  shall  view  in  cloudless  skies, 
"When  next  he  looks  through  Galileo's  eyes  ; 
And  hence  the  egregious  wizard  shall  foredoom 
The  fate  of  Louis,  and  the  fall  of  Eome.  [hair, 

Then  cease,  bright  nymph  !  to  mourn  thy  ravish'd 
Which  adds  new  glory  to  the  shining  sphere  ! 
Not  all  the  tresses  that  fair  heads  can  boast,       _ 
Shall  draw  such  envy  as  the  Lock  you  lost. 
For  after  all  the  murders  of  your  eye, 
When,  after  millions  slain,  yourself  shall  die  ; 
When  those  fair  suns  shall  set,  as  set  they  must, 
And  all  those  tresses  shall  be  laid  in  dust, 
This  lock  the  Muse  shall  consecrate  to  fame, 
And  'midst  the  stars  inscribe  Belinda's  name. 


83 


ELEGY 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  AN  UNFORTUNATE  LADY. 

WHAT  beckoning  ghost  along  the  moonlight  shade 

Invites  my  steps,  and  points  to  yonder  glade  1 

Tis  she  ! — but  why  that  bleeding  bosom  gored  1 

Why  dimly  gleams  the  visionary  sword  ? 

Oh,  ever  beauteous,  ever  friendly !  tell, 

Is  it,  in  heaven,  a  crime  to  love  too  well  ? 

To  bear  too  tender  or  too  firm  a  heart, 

To  act  a  lover's  or  a  Roman's  part  ? 

Is  there  no  bright  reversion  in  the  sky, 

For  those  who  greatly  think,  or  bravely  die  ? 

Why  bade  ye  else,  ye  powers  !  her  soul  aspire 
Above  the  vulgar  flight  of  low  desire  ? 
Ambition  first  sprung  from  your  blest  abodes ; 
The  glorious  fault  of  angels  and  of  gods : 
Thence  to  their  images  on  earth  it  flows, 
And  in  the  breasts  of  kings  and  heroes  glows. 
Most  souls,  'tis  true,' but  peep  out  once  an  age, 
Dull  sullen  prisoners  hi  the  body's  cage  : 
Dim  lights  of  life,  that  burn  a  length  of  years 
Useless,  unseen,  as  lamps  in  sepulchres  ; 
Like  Eastern  kings  a  lazy  state  they  keep, 
And,  close  confined  to  their  own  palace,  sleep. 

From  these  perhaps  (ere  nature  bade  her  die) 
Fate  snatch'd  her  early  to  the  pitying  sky. 
As  into  air  the  purer  spirits  flow, 
And  separate  from  their  kindred  dregs  below  ; 
So  flew  the  soul  to  its  congenial  place, 
Nor  left  one  virtue  to  redeem  her  race. 

But  thou,  false  guardian  of  a  charge  too  good, 
Thou,  mean  deserter  of  thy  brother's  blood  1 
See  on  these  ruby  lips  the  trembling  breath, 
These  cheeks  now  fading  at  the  blast  of  death : 
Cold  is  that  breast  which  warm'd  the  world  before, 
And  those  love-darting  eyes  must  roll  no  more. 
Thus,  if  eternal  justice  rules  the  ball, 
Thus  shall  your  wives,  and  thus  your  children  fall: 
On  all  the  line  a  sudden  vengeance  waits, 
And  frequent  hearses  shall  besiege  your  gates; 
o  2 


84  ELEGY. 

There  passengers  shall  stand,  and  pointing  say, 

(While  the  long  funerals  blacken  all  the  way,) 

Lo !  these  were  they,  whose  souls  the  Furies'  steel'd, 

And  cursed  with  hearts  unknowing  how  to  yield. 

Thus  unlamented  pass  the  proud  away, 

The  gaze  of  fools,  and  pageant  of  a  day ! 

So  perish  all,  whose  breast  ne'er  learn 'd  to  glow 

For  others'  good,  or  melt  at  others'  woe. 

What  can  atone  (O  ever-injured  shade  !) 
Thy  fate  uupitied,  and  thy  rites  unpaid  ? 
No  friend's  complaint,  no'kind  domestic  tear 
Pleased  thy  pale  ghost,  or  graced  thy  mournful  bier. 
By  foreign  hands  thy  dying  eyes  were  closed, 
By  foreign  hands  thy  decent  limbs  composed, 
By  foreign  hands  thy  humble  grave  adorn'd, 
By  strangers  honour'd,  and  by  strangers  mourn'd  ! 
What  though  no  friends  in  sable  weeds  appear, 
Grieve  for  an  hour,  perhaps,  then  mourn  a  year, 
And  bear  about  the  mockery  of  woe 
To  midnight  dances,  and  the  public  show  ? 
What  though  no  weeping  loves  thy  ashes  grace, 
Nor  polish'd  marble  emulate  thy  face  1 
What  though  no  sacred  earth  allow  thee  room, 
Nor  hallow'd  dirge  be  mutter'd  o'er  thy  tomb  ? 
Yet  shall  thy  grave  with  rising  flowers  be  drest, 
And  the  green  turf  lie  lightly  on  thy  breast : 
There  shall  the  morn  her  earliest  tears  bestow, 
There  the  first  roses  of  the  year  shall  blow ; 
While  angels  with  their  silver  wings  o'ershade 
The  ground,  now  sacred  by  thy  reliques  made. 

So  peaceful  rests,  without  a  stone,  a  name, 
What  once  had  beauty,  titles,  wealth,  and  fame. 
How  loved,  how  honour'd  once,  avails  thee  not, 
To  whom  related,  or  by  whom  begot ; 
A  heap  of  dust  alone  remains  of  thee, 
'Tis  all  thou  art,  and  all  the  proud  shall  be ! 

Poets  themselves  must  fall  like  those  they  sung, 
Deaf  the  praised  ear,  and  mute  the  tuneful  tongue. 
Even  he,  whose  soul  now  melts  in  mournful  lays, 
Shall  shortly  want  the  generous  tear  he  pays ; 
Then  from  his  closing  eyes  thy  form  shall  part, 
And  the  last  pang  shall  tear  thee  from  his  hearty 
Lite's  idle  business  at  one  gasp  be  o'er, 
The  muse  forgot,  and  thou  beloved  no  more  1 


85 
PROLOGUE 

TO 

MR.  ADDISON'S  TRAGEDY  OF  CATO. 

To  wake  the  soul  by  tender  strokes  of  art, 

To  raise  the  genius,  and  to  mend  the  heart, 

To  make  mankind,  in  conscious  virtue  bold. 

Live  o'er  each  scene,  and  be  what  they  behold : 

For  this  the  Tragic  Muse  first  trod  the  stage, 

Commanding  tears  to  stream  through  every  age ; 

Tyrants  no  more  their  savage  nature  kept, 

And  foes  to  virtue  wonder'd  how  they  wept. 

Our  author  shuns  by  vulgar  springs  to  move 

The  hero's  glory,  or  the  virgin's  love; 

In  pitying  love,  we  but  our  weakness  show, 

And  wild  ambition  well  deserves  its  woe. 

Here  tears  shall  flow  from  a  more  generous  cause, 

Such  tears  as  patriots  shed  for  dying  laws : 

He  bids  your  breasts  with  ancient  ardour  rise, 

And  calls  forth  Roman  drops  from  British  eyes. 

Virtue  confess'd  in  human  shape  he  draws, 

What  Plato  thought,  and  godlike  Cato  was: 

No  common  object  to  your  sight  displays, 

But  what  with  pleasure  Heaven  itself  surveys, 

A  brave  man  struggling  in  the  storms  of  fate, 

And  greatly  falling  with  a  falling  state. 

While  Cato  gives  his  little  senate  laws, 

What  bosom  beats  not  in  his  country's  cause  1 

Who  sees  him  act,  but  envies  every  deed  ? 

Who  hears  him  groan,  and  does  not  wish  to  bleed  ? 

Even  when  proud  Ceesar,  'midst  triumphal  cars, 

The  spoils  of  nations,  and  the  pomp  of  wars, 

Ignobly  vain,  and  impotently  great, 

Snow'd  Rome  her  Cato's  figure  drawn  in  state ; 

As  her  dead  father's  reverend  image  pass'd, 

The  pomp  was  darken'd,  and  the  day  o'ercast; 

The  triumph  ceased,  tears  gush'd  from  every  eye; 

The  world's  great  victor  pass'd  unheeded  by ; 

Her  last  good  man  dejected  Rome  adored, 

And  honoured  Caesar's  less  than  Cato's  sword.    , 

9* 


80  EPILOGUE. 


Britons,  attend:  be  worth  like  this  approved, 
And  show,  you  have  the  virtue  to  be  moved. 
With  honest  scorn  the  first  famed  Cato  view'd 
Kome  learning  arts  from  Greece,  whom  she  subdued  ; 
Your  scene  precariously  subsists  too  long 
On  French  translation,  and  Italian  song. 
Dare  to  have  sense  yourselves ;    assert  the  stage, 
Be  justly  warm'd  with  your  own  native  rage: 
Such  plays  alone  should  win  a  British  ear, 
As  Cato's  self  had  not  disdain'd  to  hear. 


EPILOGUE 

TO 

MB.    HOWE'S    JANE    SHORE. 

PRODIGIOUS  this  !  the  frail  one  of  our  play 
From  her  own  sex  should  mercy  find  to-day  ! 
You  might  have  held  the  pretty  head  aside, 
Peep'd  in  your  fans,  been  serious,  thus,  and  cried, 
The  play  may  pass — but  that  strange  creature,  Shore, 
I  can't — indeed  now — I  so  hate  a  whore — 
Just  as  a  blockhead  rubs  his  thoughtless  skull, 
And  thanks  his  stars  he  was  not  born  a  fool ; 
So  from  a  sister  sinner  you  shall  hear, 
"  How  strangely  you  expose  yourself,  my  dear  I" 
But  let  me  die,  all  raillery  apart, 
Our  sex  are  still  forgiving,  at  their  heart ; 
And,  did  not  wicked  custom  so  contrive, 
We'd  be  the  best,  good-natured  things  alive. 
There  are,  'tis  true,  who  tell  another  tale, 
That  virtuous  ladies  envy  while  they  rail ; 
Such  rage  without  betrays  the  fire  within ; 
In  some  close  corner  of  the  soul,  they  sin ; 
Still  hoarding  up,  most  scandalously  nice, 
Amidst  their  virtues  a  reserve  of  vice. 
The  godly  dame,  who  fleshly  failings  damns, 
Scolds  with  her  maid,  or  with  her  chaplain  crams. 
Would  you  enjoy  soft  nights  and  solid  dinners  ] 
JFaith,  gallants,  board  with  saints,  and  bed  with  shiners. 


SAI'PHO   TO    I'HAON.  87 

Well,  if  our  author  in  the  wife  offends, 
He  has  a  husband  that  will  make  amends: 
He  draws  him  gentle,  tender,  and  forgiving, 
And  sure  such  kind  good  creatures  may  be  living. 
In  days  of  old,  they  pardon'd  breach  of  vows, 
Stern  Gate's  self  was  no  relentles^  spouse : 
Plu— Plutarch,  what's  his  name,  that  writes  his  life  t 
Tells  us,  that  Cato  dearly  loved  his  wife: 
Yet,  if  a  friend,  a  night  or  so,  should  need  her, 
He'd  recommend  her  as  a  special  breeder. 
To  lend  a  wife,  few  here  would  scruple  make, 
But,  pray,  which  of  you  all  would  take  her  back  ! 
Though  with  the  stoic  chief  our  stage  may  ring, 
The  stoic  husband  was  the  glorious  thing. 
The  man  had  courage,  was  a  sage,  'tis  true, 
And  loved  his  country, — but  what's  that  to  you  ? 
Those  strange  examples  ne'er  were  made  to  fit  ye, 
But  the  kiud  cuckold  might  instruct  the  city: 
There,  many  an  honest  man  may  copy  Cato, 
Who  ne'er  saw  naked  sword,  or  look'd  in  Plato. 

If,  after  all,  you  think  it  a  disgrace, 
That  Edward's  Miss  thus  perks  it  in  your  face; 
To  see  a  piece  of  failing  flesh  and  blood, 
In  all  the  rest  so  impudently  good ; 
Faith,  let  the  modest  matrons  of  the  town 
Come  here  in  crowds,  and  stare  the  strumpet  down. 


SAPPHO   TO   PHAONT. 

Translated  from  Ovid. 

SAT,  lovely  youth,  that  dost  my  heart  command, 
Can  Phaon's  eyes  forget  his  Sappho's  hand  ? 
Must  then  her  name  the  wretched  writer  prove, 
To  thy  remembrance  lost,  as  to  thy  love  1 
Ask  not  the  cause  that  I  new  numbers  choose, 
The  lute  neglected,  and  the  lyric  muse ; 
Love  taught  my  tears  in  sadder  notes  to  flow, 
And  tuned  my  heart  to  elegies  of  woe. 
I  burn,  I  burn,  as  when  through  ripen'd  corn 
By  driving  winds  the  spreading  flames  are  borne  t 
Phaon  to  ./Etna's  scorching  fields  retires, 
While  I  consume  with  more  than  ^Etna's  fires  I 


SAPPHO   TO   PIIAON. 

No  more  my  soul  a  charm  in  music  finds; 

Music  has  charms  alone  for  peaceful  minds. 

Soft  scenes  of  solitude  no  more  can  please, 

Love  enters  there,  and  I'm  my  own  disease. 

No  more  the  Lesbian  dames  my  passion  move, 

Once  the  dear,  objects  of  my  guilty  love; 

All  other  loves  are  lost  in  only  thine, 

Ah,  youth,  ungrateful  to  a  flame  like  mine  ! 

Whom  would  not  all  those  blooming  charms  surprise, 

Those  heavenly  looks,  and  dear  deluding  eyes  ? 

The  harp  and  bow  would  you  like  Phcebus  bear, 

A  brighter  Phcebus  Phaon  might  appear; 

"Would  you  with  ivy  wreathe  your  flowing  hair, 

Not  Bacchus  self  with  Phaon  could  compare : 

Yet  Phcebus  loved,  and  Bacchus  felt  the  flame, 

One  Daphne  warm'd,  and  one  the  Cretan  dame ; 

Nymphs  that  in  verse  no  more  could  rival  me, 

Than  even  those  gods  contend  in  charms  with  thee. 

The  Muses  teach  me  all  their  softest  lays, 

And  the  wide  world  resounds  with  Sappho's  praise. 

Though  great  Alcseus  more  sublimely  sings, 

And  strikes  with  bolder  rage  the  sounding  strings, 

No  less  renown  attends  the  moving  lyre, 

"Which  Venus  tunes,  and  all  her  loves  inspire; 

To  me  what  nature  has  in  charms  denied, 

Is  well  by  wit's  more  lasting  flames  supplied. 

Though  short  my  stature,  yet  my  name  extends 

To  heaven  itself,  and  earth's  remotest  ends. 

Brown  as  I  am,  an  Ethiopian  dame 

Inspired  young  Perseus  with  a  generous  flame ; 

Turtles  and  doves  of  different  hues  unite, 

And  glossy  jet  is  pair'd  with  shining  white. 

If  to  no  charms  thou  wilt  thy  heart  resign, 

But  such  as  merit,  such  as  equal  thine  ; 

By  none,  alas  !  by  none  thou  canst  be  moved ; 

Phaon  alone  by  Phaon  must  be  loved  ! 

Yet  once  thy  Sappho  could  thy  cares  employ, 

Once  hi  her  arms  you  centred  all  your  joy: 

No  time  the  dear  remembrance  can  remove, 

For  oh !  how  vast  a  memory  has  love ! 

My  music,  then,  you  could  for  ever  hear, 

And  all  my  words  were  music  to  your  ear. 

You  stopp'd  with  kisses  my  enchanting  tongue, 

And  found  my  kisses  sweeter  than  my  song. 


BAPPHO  TO   PIT  AON.  89 

In  all  I  pleased,  but  most  in  what  was  best; 

And  the  last  joy  was  dearer  than  the  rest. 

Then  with  each  word,  each  glance,  each  motion  fired. 

You  still  enjoy'd,  and  yet  you  still  desired, 

Till  all  dissolving  in  the  trance  we  lay, 

And  in  tumultuous  raptures  died  away. 

The  fair  Sicilians  now  thy  soul  inflame; 

Why  was  I  born,  ye  gods,  a  Lesbian  dame  ? 

But  ah  !  beware,  Sicilian  nymphs  !  nor  boast 

That  wandering  heart  which  I  so  lately  lost ; 

Nor  be  with  all  those  tempting  words  abused, 

Those  tempting  words  were  all  to  Sappho  used. 

And  you  that  rule  Sicilia's  happy  plains, 

Have  pity,  Venus,  on  your  poet's  pains ! 

Shall  fortune  still  in  one  sad  tenor  run, 

And  still  increase  the  woes  so  soon  begun  ? 

Inured  to  sorrow  from  my  tender  years, 

My  parent's  ashes  drank  my  early  tears; 

My  brother  next,  neglecting  wealth  and  fame, 

Ignobly  burn'd  in  a  destructive  flame: 

An  infant  daughter  late  my  griefs  increased, 

And  all  a  mother's  cares  distract  my  breast. 

Alas  !  what  more  could  fate  itself  impose, 

But  thee,  the  last  and  greatest  of  my  woes  1 

No  more  my  robes  in  waving  purple  flow, 

Nor  on  my  hand  the  sparkling  diamonds  glow; 

No  more  my  locks,  in  ringlets  curl'd,  diffuse 

The  costly  sweetness  of  Arabian  dews, 

Nor  braids  of  gold  the  varied  tresses  bind, 

That  fly  disorder'd  with  the  wanton  wind: 

For  whom  should  Sappho  use  such  arts  as  these  ? 

He's  gone,  whom  only  she  desired  to  please ! 

Cupid's  light  darts  my  tender  bosom  move, 

Still  is  there  cause  for  Sappho  still  to  love: 

So  from  my  birth  the  Sisters  fix'd  my  doom, 

And  gave  to  Venus  all  my  life  to  come ; 

Or,  while  my  muse  in  melting  notes  complains, 

My  yielding  heart  keeps  measure  to  my  strains. 

By  charms  like  thine  which  all  my  soul  have  won, 

Who  might  not — ah  !  who  would  not  be  undone  ? 

For  those  Aurora  Cephalus  might  scorn, 

And  with  fresh  blushes  paint  the  conscious  morn. 

For  those  might  Cynthia  lengthen  Phaon's  sleep, 

And  bid  Endymion  nightly  tend  his  sheep. 


90  8APP110   TO    P1IAON. 

Venus  for  those  had  rapt  thee  to  the  skies, 
But  Mars  on  thee  might  look  with  Venus'  eyes. 
O  scarce  a  youth,  yet  scarce  a  tender  boy  ! 

0  useful  time  for  lovers  to  employ ! 
Pride  of  thy  age,  and  glory  of  thy  race, 
Come  to  these  arms,  and  melt  in  this  embrace ! 
The  vows  you  never  will  return,  receive ; 
And  take  at  least  the  love  you  will  not  give. 
See,  while  I  write,  my  words  are  lost  in  tears ! 
The  less  my  sense,  the  more  my  love  appears. 
Sure  'twas  not  much  to  bid  one  kind  adieu, 
(At  least  to  feign  was  never  hard  to  you  ;) 
Farewell,  my  Lesbian  love,  you  might  have  said ; 
Or  coldly  thus,  Farewell,  O  Lesbian  maid  1 

No  tear  did  you,  no  parting  kiss  receive, 
Nor  knew  I  then  how  much  I  was  to  grieve. 
No  lover's  gift  your  Sappho  could  confer, 
And  wrongs  and  woes  were  all  you  left  with  her. 
No  charge  I  gave  you,  and  no  charge  could  give, 
But  this,  Be  mindful  of  our  loves,  and  live. 
Now  by  the  nine,  those  powers  adored  by  me, 
And  Love,  the  god  that  ever  waits  on  thee, 
When  first  I  heard  (from  whom  I  hardly  knew) 
That  you  were  fled,  and  all  my  joys  with  you, 
m  Like  some  sad  statue,  speechless,  pale  I  stood, 
Grief  chill'd  my  breast,  and  stopp'd  my  freezing  blood ; 
No  sigh  to  rise,  no  tear  had  power  to  flow, 
Fix'd  in  a  stupid  lethargy  of  woe ; 
But  when  its  way  the  impetuous  passion  found, 

1  rend  my  tresses,  and  my  breast  I  wound ; 

I  rave,  then  weep ;  I  curse,  and  then  complain ; 
Now  swell  to  rage,  now  melt  in  tears  again. 
Not  fiercer  pangs  distract  the  mournful  dame, 
Whose  first-born  infant  feeds  the  funeral  flame. 
My  scornful  brother  with  a  smile  appears, 
Insults  my  woes,  and  triumphs  in  my  tears : 
His  hated  image  ever  haunts  my  eyes, 
And  why  this  grief?  thy  daughter  lives,  he  cries. 
Stung  with  my  love,  and  furious  with  despair, 
All  torn  my  garments,  and  my  bosom  bare, 
My  woes,  thy  crimes,  I  to  the  world  proclaim ; 
Such  inconsistent  things  are  love  and  shame! 
'Tis  thou  art  all  my  care  and  my  delight, 
My  daily  longing,  and  my  dream  by  night: 


SAPPHO   TO   PUAON.  91 

Oh  night  more  pleasing  than  the  brightest  day, 

When  fancy  gives  what  absence  takes  away, 

And,  dress'd  in  all  its  visionary  charms, 

Restores  my  fair  deserter  to  my  arms! 

Then  round  your  neck  in  wanton  wreath  I  twine, 

Then  you,  methinks,  as  fondly  circle  mine ; 

A  thousand  tender  words  I  hear  and  speak ; 

A  thousand  melting  kisses  give,  and  take : 

Then  fiercer  joys,  I  blush  to  mention  these, 

Yet,  while  I  blush,  confess  how  much  they  please. 

But  when,  with  day,  the  sweet  delusions  fly, 

And  all  things  wake  to  life  and  joy,  but  I, 

As  if  once  more  forsaken,  I  complain, 

And  close  my  eyes  to  dream  of  you  again: 

Then  frantic  rise,  and  like  some  fury  rove 

Through  lonely  plains,  and  through  the  silent  grove ; 

As  if  the  silent  grove,  and  lonely  plains, 

That  knew  my  pleasures,  could  relieve  my  pains. 

I  view  the  grotto,  once  the  scene  of  love, 

The  rocks  around,  the  hanging  roofs  above, 

That  charm'd  me  more,  with  native  moss  o'ergrown, 

Than  Phrygian  marble,  or  the  Parian  stone. 

I  find  the  shades  that  veil'd  our  joys  before ; 

But,  Phaon  gone,  those  shades  delight  no  more. 

Here  the  press'd  herbs  with  bending  tops  betray  9 

Where  oft  entwined  in  amorous  folds  we  lay ; 

I  kiss  that  earth  which  once  was  press'd  by  you, 

And  all  with  tears  the  withering  herbs  bedew. 

For  thee  the  fading  trees  appear  to  mourn, 

And  birds  defer  their  songs  till  thy  return: 

Night  shades  the  groves,  and  all  in  silence  lie, 

All  but  the  mournful  Philomel  and  I: 

With  mournful  Philomel  I  join  my  strain, 

Of  Tereus  she,  of  Phaon  I  complain. 

A  spring  there  is,  whose  silver  waters  show, 
Clear  as  a  glass,  the  shining  sands  below: 
A  flowery  lotos  spreads  its  arms  above, 
Shades  all  the  banks,  and  seems  itself  a  grove ; 
Eternal  greens  the  mossy  margin  grace, 
Watched  by  the  silvan  genius  of  the  place: 
Here  as  I  lay,  and  swell'd  with  tears  the  flood, 
Before  my  sight  a  watery  virgin  stood : 
She  stood  and  cried,  "O  you  that  love  in  vain! 
Fly  hence,  and  seek  the  far  Leucadian  main; 


92  SAPPHO   TO   PHAOJT. 

There  stands  a  rock,  from  whose  impending  steep 
Apollo's  fane  surveys  the  rolling  deep; 
There  injured  lovers,  leaping  from  above, 
Their  flames  extinguish,  and  forget  to  love. 
Deucalion  once  with  hopeless  fury  burn'd, 
In  vain  he  loved,  relentless  Pyrrha  scorn'd: 
But  when  from  hence  he  plunged  into  the  main, 
Deucalion  scorn'd,  and  Pyrrha  loved  in  vain. 
Haste,  Sappho,  haste !  from  high  Leucadia  throw 
Thy  wretched  weight,  nor  dread  the  deeps  below . 
She  spoke,  and  vanish'd  with  the  voice — I  rise, 
And  silent  tears  fall  trickling  from  my  eyes. 
I  go,  ye  nymphs !  those  rocks  and  seas  to  prove ; 
How  much  I  fear,  but  ah,  how  much  I  love ! 
I  go,  ye  nymphs,  where  furious  love  inspires ; 
Let  female  fears  submit  to  female  fires. 
To  rocks  and  seas  I  fly  from  Phaon's  hate, 
And  hope  from  seas  and  rocks  a  milder  fate 
Ye  gentle  gales,  beneath  my  body  blow, 
And  softly  lay  me  on  the  waves  below !  . 

And  thou,  kind  Love,  my  sinking  limbs  sustain, 
Spread  thy  soft  wings,  and  waft  me  o'er  the  main, 
Nor  let  a  lover's  death  the  guiltless  flood  profane ! 
On  Phoebus'  shrine  my  harp  I'll  then  bestow, 
*  And  this  inscription  shall  be  placed  below  : 
"  Here  she  who  sung,  to  him  that  did  inspire, 
Sappho  to  Phoebus  consecrates  her  lyre ; 
"What  suits  with  Sappho,  Phoebus,  suits  with  thee ; 
The  gift,  the  giver,  and  the  god  agree." 

But  why,  alas!  relentless  youth,  ah  why, 
To  distant  seas  must  tender  Sappho  fly? 
Thy  charms  than  those  may  far  more  powerful  be, 
And  Phoebus  self  is  less  a  god  to  me. 
Ah !  canst  thou  doom  me  to  the  rocks  and  sea, 
O  far  more  faithless  and  more  hard  than  they  ? 
Ah !  canst  thou  rather  see  this  tender  breast 
Dash'd  on  these  rocks  than  to  thy  bosom  press'd  ? 
This  breast,  which  once,  in  vain!  you  liked  so  well; 
Where  the  loves  play'd,  and  where  the  muses  dwelL 
Alas !  the  muses  now  no  more  inspire, 
Untuned  my  lute,  and  silent  is  my  lyre. 
My  languid  numbers  have  forgot  to  flow, 
And  fancy  sinks  beneath  the  weight  of  woe. 


SAPPHO  TO   PHAON.  93 

Ye  Lesbian  virgins,  and  ye  Lesbian  dames, 

Themes  of  my  verse,  and  objects  of  my  flames, 

No  more  your  groves  with  my  glad  songs  shall  ring, 

No  more  these  hands  shall  touch  the  trembling  string : 

My  Phaon  's  fled,  and  I  those  arts  resign — 

(Wretch  that  I  am,  to  call  that  Phaon  mine !) 

Return,  fair  youth,  return,  and  bring  along 

Joy  to  my  soul,  and  vigour  to  my  song : 

Absent  from  thee,  the  poet's  flame  expires; 

But  ah !  how  fiercely  burn  the  lover's  fires ! 

Gods !  can  no  prayers,  no  sighs,  no  numbers  move 

One  savage  heart,  or  teach  it  how  to  love? 

The  winds  my  prayers,  my  sighs,  my  numbers  bear, 

The  flying  winds  have  lost  them  all  in  air! 

Or  when,  alas !  shall  more  auspicious  gales 

To  these  fond  eyes  restore  thy  welcome  sails ! 

If  you  return — ah  why  these  long  delays? 

Poor  Sappho  dies  while  careless  Phaon  stays. 

O  launch  the  bark,  nor  fear  the  watery  plain ; 

^.•iius  for  thee  shall  smooth  her  native  main. 

O  launch  thy  bark,  secure  of  prosperous  gales; 

CJupid  for  thee  shall  spread  the  swelling  sails. 

If  you  will  fly — (yet  ah !  what  cause  can  be, 

Too  cruel  youth,  that  you  should  fly  from  me  ?) 

If  not  from  Phaon  I  must  hope  for  ease, 

Ah  let  me  seek  it  from  the  raging  seas : 

To  raging  seas  unpitied  I'll  remove, 

And  either  cease  to  live  or  cease  to  love! 


ELOISA  TO  ABELAED. 

ARGUMENT. 

Anri.A::i>,onp  of  the  most  celebrated  teachers  of  the  twelfth  ccntnrj, 
both  for  liis  extraordinary  talents  and  his  misfortunes,  was  born  at 
Palais,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Nantes,  in  the  year  1079.  After  sur- 
passing ninny  of  ilie  greatest  scholars  of  his  age,  he  became  a  professor 
of  divinity  in  Paris  with  great  success.  lie  cast  his  eyes  on  the  fair 
Heloise,  the  niece  of  Kulbert,  a  canon  in  the  cathedral  of  Paris,  and, 
determined  to  gratify  his  passion,  he  proposed  to  Kulbert  to  receive  him 
into  his  house  ns  a  boarder,  and  promised  to  give,  in  exchange,  all  the 
instruction  which  he  might  consider  his  niece  might  require.  The 
canon,  being  rather  parsimonious,  and  anxious  to  see  bis  niece  among 
the  stars  of  her  time,  agreed  to  the  proposal.  Among  the  things 
taught  by  Abelard  to  his  ardent  pupil,  the  art  of  love  was  the  chief, 
OQd  in  which  she  soon  surpassed  her  master.  The  consequence  was 

10 


94  ELOISA   TO   ABELAKD. 

soon  visible,  and  Fulbert  insisted  on  their  marriage.  This  Abelard, 
although  ordained,  consented  to;  but  Heloise,  considering  that  it  would 
be  the  destruction  of  Abelard's  glory,  in  a  letter  tried  to  dissuade  him 
from  it.  However,  they  were  married,  with  the  understanding  that  it  was 
to  be  kept  from  the  knowledge  of  the  public.  Fulbert,  jealous  of  the 
honour  of  his  family,  soon  made  the  fact  known,  upon  which  Heloise, 
In  the  firmest  manner,  denied  it.  Fulbert's  unkind  treatment  of  his  niece 
caused  Abelard  to  remove  her  to  the  convent  of  Argenteuil ;  and  Fulbort, 
fancying  that  it  was  intended  to  make  her  a  nun,  in  revenge  contrived 
to  get  introduced  into  Abelard's  bed-room,  in  the  dead  of  night,  two 
wretches,  who  mutilated  him  in  a  most  atrocious  manner.  The 
miscreants  were  punished,  the  canon  disgraced;  Heloise  took  the  veil, 
and  Abelard  buried  his  grief  and  shame  under  the  monastic  garment, 
in  the  abbey  of  St.  Denis.  After  some  years  had  passed,  the  nuns  of 
Argenteuil  were  expelled,  Heloise  among  them.  Abelard,  who  had 
built  the  oratory  of  Paraclet,  gave  it  to  Heloise,  whose  exemplary  con- 
duct procured  her  universal  praise.  Abelard  died  in  1142,  and  was 
buried  at  Paraclet,  in  a  beautiful  gothic  tomb  erected  by  He'.oise, 
whose  remains  were  interred  in  the  same  receptacle  twenty-one  years 
after.  The  tomb  was  removed  to  Paris,  and  placed  where  it  is  now  to 
be  seen,  in  the  cemetery  of  Pere  la  Chaise.  From  the  letters  which 
passed  between  this  unfortunate  pair,  the  author  was  indebted  for  the 
acutiinents  expressed  in  the  poem. 

IN  these  deep  solitudes  and  awful  cells, 
Where  heavenly-pensive  Contemplation  dwells, 
And  ever-musing  Melancholy  reigns ; 
What  means  this  tumult  irt  a  vestal's  veins  1 
Why  rove  my  thoughts  beyond  this  last  retreat  ? 

Yet,  yet  I  love ! — From  Abelard  it  came, 
And  Eloi'sa  yet  must  kiss  the  name. 

Dear  fatal  name!  rest  ever  unreveal'd, 
Nor  pass  these  lips,  in  holy  silence  seal'd : 
Hide  it,  my  heart,  within  that  close  disguise, 
Where,  mix'd  with  God's,  his  loved  idea  lies : 

0  write  it  not,  my  hand — the  name  appears 
Already  written — wash  it  out,  my  tears ! 
In  vain  lost  Elo'isa  weeps  and  prays, 

Her  heart  still  dictates,  and  her  hand  obeys. 

Relentless  walls !  whose  darksome  round  contains 
Bepentant  sighs,  and  voluntary  pains : 
Ye  rugged  rocks,  which  holy  knees  have  worn: 
Ye  grots  and  caverns  shagg'd  with  horrid  thorn ! 
Shrines !  where  their  vigils  pale-eyed  virgins  keep, 
And  pitying  saints,  whose  statues  learn  to  weep  I 
Tho'  cold  like  you,  unmoved  and  silent  grown, 

1  have  not  yet  forgot  myself  to  stone. 


ELOISA  TO   ABELARD.  95 

All  is  not  Heaven's  while  Abelard  has  part, 
Still  rebel  nature  holds  out  half  my  heart; 
Nor  prayers  nor  fasts  its  stubborn  pulse  restrain, 
Nor  tears  for  ages  taught  to  flow  in  vain. 
Soon  as  thy  letters  trembling  I  unclose, 
That  well-known  name  awakens  all  my  woes. 

0  name,  for  ever  sad  !  for  ever  dear! 

Still  breathed  in  sighs,  still  usher'd  with  a  tear. 

1  tremble,  too,  whene'er  my  own  I  find ; 
Some  dire  misfortune  follows  clo^e  behind. 
Line  after  line  my  gushing  eyes  o'erflow, 
Led  through  a  sad  variety  of  woe : 

Now  warm  in  love,  now  withering  in  my  bloom, 
Lost  in  a  convent's  solitary  gloom ! 
There  stern  Religion  quench'd  the  unwilling  flame, 
There  died  the  best  of  passions,  Love  and  Fame. 

Yet  write,  oh !  write  me  all,  that  I  may  join 
Griefs  to  thy  griefs,  and  echo  sighs  to  thine. 
Nor  foes  nor  fortune  take  this  power  away; 
And  is  my  Abelard  less  kind  than  they  ? 
Tears  still  are  mine,  and  those  I  need  not  spare, 
Love  but  demands  what  else  were  shed  in  prayer; 
No  happier  task  these  faded  eyes  pursue; 
To  read  and  weep  is  all  they  now  can  do. 

Then  share  thy  pain,  allow  that  sad  relief; 
Ah,  more  than  share  it!  give  me  all  thy  grief. 
Heaven  first  taught  letters  for  some  wretch's  aid, 
Some  banish 'd  lover,  or  some  captive  maid ; 
They  live,  they  speak,  they  breathe  what  love  inspires 
Warm  from  the  soul,  and  faithful  to  its  fires, 
The  virgin's  wish  without  her  fears  impart, 
Excuse  the  blush,  and  pour  out  all  the  heart, 
Speed  the  soft  intercourse  from  soul  to  soul, 
And  waft  a  sigh  from  Indus  to  the  Pole. 

Thou  know'st  how  guiltless  first  I  met  thy  flame, 
When  Love  approach'd  me  under  friendship's  name; 
My  fancy  form  d  thee  of  angelic  kind, 
Some  emanation  of  the  all-beauteous  Mind. 
Those  smiling  eyes,  attempering  every  ray, 
Shone  sweetly  lambent  with  celestial  day. 
Guiltless  I  gazed,  Heaven  listenVl  while  you  sung, 
And  truths  divine  came  mended  from  that  tongue. 
From  lips  like  those  what  precept  fail'd  to  move! 
Too  soon  they  taught  me  'twas  no  sin  to  love: 


96  ELOISA   TO    ABELARD. 

Back  through  the  paths  of  ple.ising  sense  I  rs^ 
Nor  wish'd  an  angel  whom  I  loved  a  man. 
Dim  and  remote  the  joys  of  saints  1  see ; 
Nor  envy  them  that  heaven  I  lose  for  thee. 

How  oft,  when  press'd  to  marriage,  have  J  said. 
Curse  on  all  laws  but  those  which  love  has  made  I 
Love,  free  as  air,  at  sight  of  human  ties, 
Spreads  his  light  wings,  and  in  a  moment  Hies. 
Let  wealth,  let  honour,  wait  the  wedded  dame, 
August  her  deed,  and  sacred  be  her  fame ; 
Before  true  passion  all  those  views  remove ; 
Fame,  wealth,  and  honour!  what  are  you  to  Love'i 
The  jealous  god,  when  we  profane  his  fires, 
Those  restless  passions  in  revenge  inspires, 
And  bids  them  make  mistaken  mortals  groan, 
Who  seek  in  love  for  aught  but  love  alone. 
Should  at  my  feet  the  world's  great  master  fall, 
Himself,  his  throne,  his  world,  I'd  scorn  'em  all; 
Nor  Ceesar's  empress  would  I  deign  to  prove ; 
No,  make  me  mistress  to  the  man  I  love : 
If  there  be  yet  another  name  more  free, 
More  fond  than  mistress,  make  me  that  to  thee ! 
Oh !  happy  state !  when  souls  each  other  draw, 
When  love  is  liberty,  and  nature  law: 
All  then  is  full,  possessing  and  possess'd, 
No  craving  void  left  aching  in  the  breast: 
Ev'n  thought  meets  thought,  ere  from  the  lips  it  part) 
And  each  warm  wish  springs  mutual  from  the  heart. 
This  sure  is  bliss  (if  bliss  on  earth  there  be), 
And  once  the  lot  of  Abelard  and  me. 

Alas,  how  changed !  what  sudden  horrors  rise ! 
A  naked  lover  bound  and  bleeding  lies! 
Where,  where  was  Elo'ise  ?  her  voice,  her  hand, 
Her  poniard  had  opposed  the  dire  command. 
Barbarian,  stay  !  that  bloody  stroke  restrain  ; 
The  crime  was  common,  common  be  the  pain. 
I  can  no  more,  by  shame,  by  rage  suppress'd — 
Let  tears  and  burning  blushes  speak  the  rest. 

Canst  thou  forget  that  sad,  that  solemn  day, 
When  victims  at  yen  altar's  foot  we  lay  1 
Canst  thou  forget  what  tears  that  moment  fell, 
When,  warm  in  youth,  I  bade  the  world  farewell? 
As  with  cold  lips  I  kiss'd  the  sacred  veil, 
The  shrines  all  trembled,  and  the  lamps  grew  pale; 


ELOJSA  TO   ALJELAIID.  97 

Heaven  scarce  believed  the  conquest  it  survey'd, 
And  saints  with  wonder  heard  the  vows  I  made. 
Yet  then,  to  those  dread  altars  as  I  drew, 
Not  on  the  cross  my  eyes  were  fix'd,  but  you : 
Not^race,  or  zeal,  love  only  was  my  call, 
And  if  I  lose  thy  love,  I  lose  my  all. 
Come  !  with  thy  looks,  thy  words  relieve  my  woe, 
Those  still  at  least  are  left  thee  to  bestow. 
Still  on  that  breast  enamoured  let  me  lie, 
Still  drink  delicious  poison  from  thy  eye, 
Pant  on  thy  lip,  and  to  thy  heart  be  pressM  ; 
Give  all  thou  canst — and  let  me  dream  the  rest 
Ah  no  !  instruct  me  other  joys  to  prise, 
With  other  beauties  charm  my  partial  eyes, 
Full  in  my  view  set  all  the  bright  abode, 
And  make  my  soul  quit  Abelard  for  God. 

Ah  think  at  least  thy  flock  deserves  thy  care, 
Plants  of  thy  hand,  and  children  of  thy  prayer ; 
From  the  false  world  in  early  youth  they  fled, 
By  thee  to  mountains,  wilds,  and  deserts  led. 
You  raised  these  hallow'd  walls  ;  the  desert  smiled, 
And  Paradise  was  open'd  in  the  Wild. 
No  weeping  orphan  saw  his  father's  stores 
Our  shrines  irradiate,  or  emblaze  the  floors ; 
No  silver  saints,  by  dying  misers  given, 
Here  bribed  the  rage  of  ill-requited  Heaven : 
But  such  plain  roofs  as  piety  could  raise, 
And  only  vocal  with  the  Maker's  praise. 
In  these  lone  walls  (their  days'  eternal  bound) 
These  moss-grown  domes  with  spiry  turrets  crown'd 
Where  awful  arches  make  a  noon-day  night, 
And  the  dim  windows  shed  a  solemn  light ; 
Thy  eyes  diffused  a  reconciling  ray, 
And  gleams  of  glory  brighten'd  all  the  day. 
But  now  no  face  divine  contentment  wears, 
Tis  all  blank  sadness,  or  continual  tears. 
See  how  the  force  of  others'  prayers  I  try, 
(O  pious  fraud  of  amorous  charity  !) 
But  why  should  I  on  others'  prayers  depend  ? 
Come  thou,  my  father,  brother,  husband,  friend  ! 
Ah  let  thy  handmaid,  sister,  daughter,  move, 
And  all  those  tender  names  in  one,  thy  love ! 
The  darksome  pines  that  o'er  yon  rocks  reclined 
Wave  high,  and  murmur  to  the  hollow  wind, 
10* 


98  ELOISA   TO   ABELAHD. 

The  wandering  streams,  that  shine  between  the  hills, 

The  grots  that  echo  to  the  tinkling  rills, 

The  dying  gales  that  pant  upon  the  trees, 

The  lakes  that  quiver  to  the  curling  breeze; 

No  more  these  scenes  my  meditation  aid, 

Or  lull  to  rest  the  visionary  maid. 

But  o'er  the  twilight  groves  and  dusky  caves, 

Long-sounding  aisles,  and  intermingled  graves, 

Black  Melancholy  sits,  and  round  her  throws 

A  death-like  silence,  and  a  dread  repose : 

Her  gloomy  presence  saddens  all  the  scene, 

Shades  every  flower,  and  darkens  every  green, 

Deepens  the  murmur  of  the  falling  floods, 

And  breathes  a  browner  horror  on  the  woods. 

Yet  here  for  ever,  ever  must  I  stay ; 
Sad  proof  how  well  a  lover  can  obey ! 
Death,  only  Death,  can.  break  the  lasting  chain ; 
And  here,  even  then,  shall  my  cold  dust  remain ; 
Here  all  its  frailties,  all  its  flames  resign, 
And  wait  till  'tis  no  sin  to  mix  with  thine. 
Ah  wretch  !  believed  the  spouse  ot  God  in  vain, 
Confess'd  within  the  slave  oi  love  and  man. 
Assist  me,  Heaven!  but  whence  arose  that  prayer? 
Sprung  it  from  piety,  or  from  despair  ? 
Even  here,  where  frozen  chastity  retires, 
Love  finds  an  altar  for  forbidden  fires. 
I  ought  to  grieve,  but  cannot  what  I  ought; 
I  mourn  the  lover,  not  lament  the  fault; 
I  view  my  crime,  but  kindle  at  the  view, 
Repent  old  pleasures, and  solicit  new; 
Now  turn'd  to  Heaven,  I  weep  my  past  offence, 
Now  think  of  thee,  and  curse  my  innocence. 
Of  all  affliction  taught  a  lover  yet, 
'Tis  sure  the  hardest  science  to  forget ! 
How  shall  I  lose  the  sin,  yet  keep  the  sense  ? 
And  love  the  offender,  yet  detest  the  offence  ? 
How  the  dear  object  from  the  crime  remove, 
Or  how  distinguish  penitence  from  love  ? 
Unequal  task  !  a  passion  to  resign, 
For  hearts  so  touch'd,  so  pierced,  so  lost  as  mine. 
Ere  such  a  soul  regains  its  peaceful  state, 
How  often  must  it  love,  how  often  hate ! 
How  often  hope,  despair,  resent,  regret, 
Conceal,  disdain, — do  all  things  but  forget ! 


ELOISA  TO   ABELA.RD. 

But  let  Heaven  seize  it,  all  at  once  'tis  fired  ; 
Not  touch  'd,  but  rapt  ;  not  waken'd,  but  inspired  1 
Oh  come  !  oh  teach  me  nature  to  subdue, 
Renounce  my  love,  my  life,  myself—  and  you. 
Fill  my  fond  heart  with  God  alone,  for  he 
Alone  can  rival,  can  succeed  to  thee. 

How  ha 
The  world 


,  . 

ppy  is  the  blameless  vestal's  lot  ? 
forgetting,  by  the  world  forgot  : 


Each  prayer  accepted  ana  each  wish  resign'd  ; 

Labour  and  rest,  that  equal  periods  keep  ; 

"  Obedient  slumbers  that  can  wake  and  weep;" 

Desires  composed,  affections  ever  even  ; 

Tears  that  delight,  and  sighs  that  waft  to  heaven. 

Grace  shines  around  her  with  serenest  beams, 

And  whispering  angels  prompt  her  golden  dreams. 

For  her  the  unfading  rose  of  Eden  blooms, 

And  wings  of  seraphs  shed  divine  perfumes; 

For  her  the  spouse  prepares  the  bridal  ring, 

For  her  white  virgins  hymeneals  sing, 

To  sounds  of  heavenly  harps  she  dies  away, 

And  melts  in  visions  of  eternal  day. 

Far  other  dreams  my  erring  soul  employ, 
Far  other  raptures,  of  unholy  joy  : 
When  at  the  close  of  each  sad,  sorrowing  day, 
Fancy  restores  what  vengeance  snatch'd  away, 
Then  conscience  sleeps,  and  leaving  nature  free, 
All  my  loose  soul  unbounded  springs  to  thee. 
Oh  curst,  dear  horrors  of  all-conscious  night  ! 
How  glowing  guilt  exalts  the  keen  delight  ! 
Provoking  demons  all  restraint  remove, 
And  stir  within  me  every  source  of  love. 
I  hear  thee,  view  thee,  gaze  o'er  all  thy  charms, 
And  round  thy  phantom  glue  my  clasping 
I  wake  :  —  no  more  I  hear,  no  more  I  view, 
The  phantom  flies  me,  as  unkind  as  you. 
I  call  aloud  ;  it  hears  not  what  I  say  : 
I  stretch  my  empty  arms  ;  it  glides  away. 
To  dream  once  more  I  close  my  willing  eyes  ; 
Ye  soft  illusions,  dear  deceits,  arise  ; 


Alas,  no  more !  methinks  we  wandering  go 
Through  dreary  wastes,  and  weep  each  other's  woe, 
Where,  round  some  mouldering  tower,  pale  ivy  creeps, 
And  low-brow'd  rocks  hang  nodding  o'er  the  deeps. 


100  EL01SA   TO    ABELARD. 

Sudden  yon  mount,  you  beckon  from  the  skies; 
Clouds  interpose,  waves  roar,  and  winds  arise. 
I  shriek,  start  up,  the  same  sad  prospect  find, 
And  wake  to  all  the  griefs  I  left  behind. 

For  thee  the  fates,  severely  kind,  ordain  _ 
A  cool  suspense  from  pleasure  and  from  pain; 
Thy  life  a  long  dead  calm  of  fix'd  repose  ; 
No  pulse  that  riots,  and  no  blood  that  glows. 
Still  as  the  sea,  ere  winds  were  taught  to  blow, 
Or  moving  spirit  bade  the  waters  flow  ; 
Soft  as  the  slumbers  of  a  saint  forgiven, 
And  mild  as  opening  gleams  of  promised  heaven. 

Come,  Abelard  !  for  what  hast  thou  to  dread 
The  torch  of  Venus  burns  not  for  the  dead. 
Nature  stands  check'd  ;  Religion  disapproves  ; 


Even  thou  art  cold  —  yet  Eloisa  loves. 

opeless,  lasting  flames  ; 
To  light  the  dead,  and  warm  the  unfruitful  urn. 


. 
Ah  hopeless,  lasting  flames  ;  like  those  that  burn 


What  scenes  appear  where'er  I  turn  my  view  ? 
The  dear  ideas,  where  I  fly,  pursue, 
Eise  in  the  grove,  before  the  altar  rise, 
Stain  all  my  soul,  and  wanton  in  my  eyes. 
I  waste  the  matin  lamp  in  sighs  for  thee, 
Thy  image  steals  between  my  God  and  me, 
Thy  voice  I  seem  in  every  hymn  to  hear, 
With  every  bead  I  drop  too  soft  a  tear. 
When  from  the  censer  clouds  of  fragrance  roll, 
And  swelling  organs  lift  the  rising  soul, 
One  thought  of  thee  puts  all  the  pomp  to  flight, 
Priests,  tapers,  temples,  swim  before  my  sight  : 
In  seas  of  flame  my  plunging  soul  is  drown'd, 
While  altars  blaze,  and  angels  tremble  round. 

While  prostrate  here  in  humble  grief  I  lie, 
Kind,  virtuous  drops  just  gathering  in  my  eye, 
While  praying,  trembling,  in  the  dust  I  roll, 
And  dawning  grace  is  opening  on  my  soul  : 
Come,  if  thou  darest,  all  charming  as  thou  art  ! 
Oppose  thyself  to  Heaven;  dispute  my  heart; 
Come,  with  one  glance  of  those  deluding  eyes 
Blot  out  each  bright  idea  of  the  skies; 
Take  back  that  grace,  those  sorrows,  and  those  tears  ; 
Take  back  my  fruitless  penitence  and  prayers  ; 
Snatch  me,  just  mounting,  from  the  blest  abode; 
Assist  the  fiends,  and  tear  me  from  my  God  ! 


ELOISA  TO  ABELARD.  101 

No,  fly  me,  fly  me,  far  as  Pole  from  Pole; 
Else  Alps  between  us  !  and  whole  oceans  roll ! 
Ah,  come  not,  write  not,  think  not  once  of  me, 
Nor  share  one  pang  of  all  I  felt  for  thee. 
Thy  oaths  I  quit,  thy  memory  resign ; 
Forget,  renounce  me,  hate  whate'er  was  mine. 
Fair  eyes,  and  tempting  looks,  (which  yet  I  view  !) 
Long  loved,  adored  ideas,  all  adieu  ! 
Oh  grace  serene  !  oh  virtue  heavenly  fair  ! 
Divine  oblivion  of  low-thoughted  Care  ! 
Fresh-blooming  Hope,  gay  daughter  of  the  sky  ! 
And  Faith,  our  early  immortality ! 
Enter,  each  mild,  each  amicable  guest ; 
Receive,  and  wrap  me,  in  eternal  rest ! 

See  in  her  cell  sad  Eloisa  spread, 
Propp'd  on  some  tomb,  a  neighbour  of  the  dead. 
In  each  low  wind  me  thinks  a  spirit  calls, 
And  more  than  echoes  talk  along  the  walla. 
Here,  as  I  watch'd  the  dying  lamps  around, 
From  yonder  shrine  I  heard  a  hollow  sound. 
"  Come,  sister,  come  !  (it  said,  or  seem'd  to  say) 
Thy  place  is  here,  sad  sister,  come  away; 
Once  like  thyself,  I  trembled,  wept,  and  pray'd, 
Love's  victim  then,  though  now  a  sainted  maid : 
But  all  is  calm  in  this  eternal  sleep ; 
Here  Grief  forgets  to  groan,  and  Love  to  weep, 
E'en  Superstition  loses  every  fear: 
For  Goa,  not  man,  absolves  our  frailties  here." 

I  come,  I  come  !  prepare  your  roseate  bowers, 
Celestial  palms,  and  ever-blooming  flowers. 
Thither,  where  sinners  may  have  rest,  I  go, 
Where  flames  refined  in  breasts  seraphic  glow: 
Thou,  Abelard  !  the  last  sad  office  pay, 
And  smooth  my  passage  to  the  realms  of  day: 
See  my  lip  tremble,  and  my  eyeballs  roll, 
Suck  my  last  breath,  and  catch  my  flying  soul ! 
Ah  no — in  sacred  vestments  may'st  thou  stand, 
The  hallow'd  taper  trembling  in  thy  hand, 
Present  the  cross  before  my  lifted  eye, 
Teach  me  at  once,  and  learn  of  me,  to  die. 
Ah  then,  thy  once-loved  Eloisa  see ! 
It  will  be  then  no  crime  to  gaze  on  me. 
See  from  my  cheek  the  transient  roses  fly ! 
See  the  last  sparkle  languish  in  my  eye  ! 


102  ELOISA  TO  ABELABD. 

Till  every  motion,  pulse,  and  breath  be  o'er; 
And  even  my  Abelard  be  loved  no  more. 
O  Death  all-eloquent !  you  only  prove 
What  dust  we  dote  on,  when  'tis  man  we  love. 

Then,  too,  when  fate  shall  thy  fair  frame  destroy, 
(That  cause  of  all  my  guilt,  and  all  my  joy) 
In  trance  ecstatic  may  thy  pangs  be  drown'd, 
Bright  clouds  descend,  and  angels  watch  thee  round, 
From  opening  skies  may  streaming  glories  shine, 
And  saints  embrace  thee  with  a  love  like  mine. 

May  one  kind  grave  unite  each  hapless  name, 
And  graft  my  love  immortal  on  thy  fame  ! 
Then,  ages  hence,  when  all  my  woes  are  o'er, 
When  this  rebellious  heart  shall  beat  no  more ; 
If  ever  chance  two  wandering  lovers  brings 
To  Paraclet's  white  walls  and  silver  springs, 
O'er  the  pale  marble  shall  they  join  their  heads ; 
And  drink  the  falling  tears  each  other  sheds; 
Then  sadly  say,  with  mutual  pity  moved, 
"  Oh  may  we  never  love  as  these  have  loved  !" 
From  the  full  choir  when  loud  hosannahs  rise, 
And  swell  the  pomp  of  dreadful  sacrifice, 
Amid  that  scene  if  some  relenting  eye 
Glance  on  the  stone  where  our  cold  relics  lie, 
Devotion's  self  shall  steal  a  thought  from  heaven, 
One  human  tear  shall  drop,  and  be  forgiven. 
And  sure  if  fate  aome  future  bard  shall  join 
In  sad  similitude  of  griefs  to  mine, 
Condemn'd  whole  years  in  absence  to  deplore, 
And  image  charms  he  must  behold  no  more ; 
Such  if  there  be,  who  loves  so  long,  so  well ; 
Let  him  our  sad,  our  tender  story  tell ; 
The  well-sung  woes  will  soothe  my  pensive  ghost ; 
He  best  can  paint  them  who  shall  feel  them  moat. 


103 


TRANSLATIONS  AND  IMITATIONS. 


THE  following  Translations  were  selected  from  many  others  done  by 
the  Author  in  his  youth ;  for  the  most  part,  indeed,  but  a  sort  of 
Exerciie*,  while  he  was  improving  himself  in  the  languages,  and  carried 
by  his  early  bent  to  Poetry  to  perform  them  rather  in  rerse  than  prose. 
Mr.  Dryden's  Fable*  came  out  by  that  time,  which  occasioned  the 
Translations  from  Chaucer.  They  were  first  separately  printed  in 
Miscellanies  by  J.  Tonson  and  15.  Lintot,  and  afterwards  collected  in 
the  quarto  edition  of  1717.  The  Imitation*  of  Englith  Author*,  which 
are  added  at  the  end,  were  done  as  early,  some  of  them  at  fourteen  or 
fifteen  years  old;  but  having  also  got  into  Miscellanies,  we  have  thought 
it  best  so  to  continue  them. 


THE  TEMPLE   OF  FAME. 

WRITTEN  IN   THE  TEAR   MDCCXI. 

THE  hint  of  the  following  piece  was  taken  from  Chancer's  Uovte  of 
Fame.  The  design  is  in  a  manner  entirely  altered,  the  descriptions  and 
most  of  the  particular  thoughts  my  own  ;  yet  I  could  not  suffer  it  to  be 
printed  without  this  acknowledgment.  The  reader  who  would  compare 
this  with  Chaucrr,  may  begin  with  his  third  Book  of  Fame,  there  being 
nothing  in  the  two  first  books  that  answers  to  their  title. 

This  poem  is  introduced  in  ttie  manner  of  the  rrovt-nynl  poets,  whose 
works  were  for  the  most  part  visions  or  pieces  of  imagination,  and  con- 
stantly descriptive. 

IN  that  soft  season,  when  descending  showers 
Call  forth  the  greeny  and  wake  the  rising  flowers; 
When  opening  buds  salute  the  welcome  day, 
And  earth  relenting  feels  the  genial  ray ; 
As  balmy  sleep  had  charm'd  my  cares  to  rest, 
And  love  itself  was  banish 'd  from  my  breast, 
(What  time  the  morn  mysterious  visions  brings, 
While  purer  slumbers  spread  their  golden  wings) 
A  train  of  phantoms  in  wild  order  rose, 
And  join'd,  this  intellectual  scene  compose. 


1O1  THE   TEMPLE   OF   FAME. 

I  stood,  methought,  betwixt  earth,  seas,  and  skies; 
The  whole  creation  open  to  my  eyes: 
In  air  self-balanced  hung  the  globe  below, 
Where  mountains  rise,  and  circling  oceans  flow; 
Here  naked  rocks  and  empty  wastes  were  seen, 
There  towery  cities,  and  the  forests  green; 
Here  sailing  ships  delight  the  wandering  eyes ; 
There  trees  and  intermingled  temples  rise : 
Now  a  clear  sun  the  shining  scene  displays, 
The  transient  landscape  now  in  clouds  decays. 

O'er  the  wide  prospect  as  I  gazed  around, 
Sudden  I  heard  a  wild  promiscuous  sound, 
Like  broken  thunders  that  at  distance  roar, 
Or  billows  murmuring  on  the  hollow  shore : 
Then  gazing  up,  a  glorious  pile  beheld, 
Whose  towering  summit  ambient  clouds  conceal'd. 
High  on  a  rock  of  ice  the  structure  lay, 
Steep  its  ascent,  and  slippery  was  the  way; 
The  wondrous  rock  like  Parian  marble  shone, 
And  seem'd,  to  distant  sight,  of  solid  stone. 
Inscriptions  here  of  various  names  I  view'd, 
The  greater  part  by  hostile  time  subdued ; 
Yet  wide  was  spread  their  fame  in  ages  past, 
And  poets  once  had  promised  they  should  last. 
Some  fresh  engraved  appear'd  of  wits  renown'd ; 
I  look'd  again,  nor  could  their  trace  be  found. 
Critics  I  saw,  that  other  names  deface, 
And  fix  their  own,  with  labour,  in  their  place : 
Their  own,  like  others,  soon  their  place  resign'd, 
Or  disappear'd,  and  left  the  first  behind. 
Nor  was  the  work  impair'd  by  storms  alone, 
But  felt  the  approaches  of  too  warm  a  sun ; 
For -fame,  impatient  of  extremes,  decays 
Not  more  by  envy  than  excess  of  praise. 
Yet  part  no  injuries  of  heaven  could  feel, 
Like  crystal  faithful  to  the  graving  steel :. 
The  rock's  high  summit,  in  the  temple's  shade, 
Nor  heat  could  melt,  nor  beating  storm  invade. 
Their  names  inscribed  unnumber'd  ages  past 
From  time's  first  birth,  with  time  itself  shall  last ; 
These  ever  new,  nor  subject  to  decays, 
Spread,  and  grow  brighter  with  the  length  of  days. 

So  Zembla's  rocks  (the  beauteous  work  of  frost) 
Rise  white  in  air,  and  glitter  o'er  the  coast ; 


THE  TEMPLE  OF   FAME.  105 

Pale  suns,  unfelt,  at  distance  roll  away, 

And  on  the  impassive  ice  the  lightnings  play ; 

Eternal  snows  the  growing  mass  supply, 

Till  the  bright  mountains  prop  the  incumbent  sky 

As  Atlas  fix'd,  each  hoary  pile  appears, 

The  gather'd  winter  of  a  thousand  years. 

On  this  foundation  Fame's  high  temple  stands ; 

Stupendous  pile  !  not  rear'd  by  mortal  hands. 

Whate'er  proud  Rome  or  artful  Greece  beheld, 

Or  elder  Babylon,  its  frame  excell'd. 

Four  faces  had  the  dome,1  and  ev'ry  face 
Of  various  structure,  but  of  equal  grace: 
Four  brazen  gates,  on  columns  lifted  high, 
Salute  the  different  quarters  of  the  sky. 
Here  fabled  chiefs  in  darker  ages  born, 
Or  worthies  old,  whom  arms  or  arts  adorn, 
Who  cities  raised,  or  tamed  a  monstrous  race, 
The  walls  in  venerable  order  grace. 
Heroes  in  animated  marble  frown, 
And  legislators  seem  to  think  in  stone. 

Westward,  a  sumptuous  frontispiece  appear'd, 
On  Doric  pillars  of  white  marble  rear'd, 
Crown'd  with  an  architrave  of  antique  mould, 
And  sculpture  rising  on  the  roughen'd  gold. 
In  shaggy  spoils  here  Theseus  was  beheld, 
And  Perseus  dreadful  with  Minerva's  shield : 
There  great  Alcides2  stooping  with  his  toil, 
Bests  on  his  club,  and  holds  the  Hesperian  spoil. 
Here  Orpheus  sings ;  trees  moving  to  the  sound 
Start  from  their  roots,  and  form  a  shade  around: 
Amphion  there  the  loud-creating  lyre 
Strikes,  and  beholds  a  sudden  Thebes  aspire! 
Cithseron's  echoes  answer  to  his  call, 
And  half  the  mountain  rolls  into  a  wall : 
There  might  you  see  the  lengthening  spires  ascend, 
The  domes  swell  up,  and  widening  arches  bend, 

1  The  Temple  is  described  to  be  square,  the  four  fronts  with  open 
gates  facing  the  different  quarters  of  the  world,  as  nn  intimation  that 
all  nations  of  the  earth  may  alike  be  received  into  it.     The  western 
front  is  of  Grecian  architecture:  the  Doric  order  was  peculiarly  sacred 
to  heroes  and  worthies.    Those  whose  statues  are  after  mentioned,  were 
the  first  names  of  old  Greece  in  arms  and  arts. 

2  This  figure  of  Hercules  is  drawn  with  an  eye  to  the  position  of  the 
famous  statue  of  Faim-se. 

11 


106  THE   TEMPLE   OF   FAME. 

The  growing  towers,  like  exhalations  rise, 
And  the  huge  columns  heave  into  the  skies. 

The  eastern  front  was  glorious  to  behold, 
With  diamond  flaming,  and  barbaric  gold. 
There  Ninus  shone,  who  spread  the  Assyrian  fame, 
And  the  great  founder  of  the  Persian  name  :* 
There  in  long  robes  the  royal  Magi  stand, 
Grave  Zoroaster  waves  the  circling  wand, 
The  sage  Chaldeans  robed  in  white  appear'd, 
And  Brachmans,  deep  in  desert  woods  revered. 
These  stopp'd  the  moon,  and  call'd  the  unbodied  shades 
To  midnight  banquets  in  the  glimmering  glades; 
Made  visionary  fabrics  round  them  rise, 
And  airy  spectres  skim  before  their  eyes ; 
Of  talismans  and  sigils  knew  the  power, 
And  careful  watch'd  the  planetary  hour. 
Superior,  and  alone,  Confucius  stood, 
Who  taught  that  useful  science,  to  be  good. 

But  on  the  south,  a  long  majestic  race 
Of  Egypt's  priests2  the  gilded  niches  grace, 
Who  measured  earth,  described  the  starry  spheres, 
And  traced  the  long  records  of  lunar  years. 
High  on  his  car  Sesostris  struck  my  view, 
Whom  sceptred  slaves  in  golden  harness  drew : 
His  hands  a  bow  and  pointed  javelin  hold  ; 
His  giant  limbs  are  arm'd  in  scales  of  gold. 
Between  the  statues  obelisks  were  placed, 
And  the  learn'd  walls  with  hieroglyphics  graced. 

Of  Gothic  structure  was  the  northern  side,3 
O'erwrought  with  ornaments  of  barbarous  pride : 

1  Cyrus  was  the  beginning  of  the  Persian,  as  Ninus  was  of  the  Assy- 
rian monarchy.     The  Magi  and  Chaldeans  (the  chief  of  whom  was 
Zoroaster)  employed  their  studies  upon  magic  and  astrology,  which  was 
in  a  manner  almost  all  the  learning  of  the  ancient  Asian  people.     We 
have  scarce  nny  account  of  a  moral  philosopher  except  Confucius,  the 
great  lawgiver  of  the  Chinese,  who  lived  about  two  thousand  years 
ago. 

2  The  learning  of  the  old  Egyptian  priests  consisted  for  the  most 
part  in  geometry  and  astronomy ;  they  also  preserved  the  history  of 
their  nation.  Their  greatest  hero  upon  record  is  Sesostris,  whose  actions 
and  conquests  may  be  seen  at  large  in  Diodorus,  &c.  He  is  said  to  have 
caused  the  kings  he  vanquished  to  draw  him  in  his  chariot.     The 
posture  of  his  statue,  in  these  verses,  is  correspondent  to  the  description 
•which  Herodotus  gives  of  one  of  them  remaining  in  his  own  time. 

3  The  architecture  is  agreeable  to  that  part  of  the  world.      The 
learning  of  the  northern  nations  lay  more  obscure  than  that  of  the  rest ; 


THE  TEMPLE  OF  FABIE.  107 

There  huge  Colossae  rose,  with  trophies  crown'd, 
And  Kunic  characters  were  graved  around. 
There  sat  Zamolxis  with  erected  eyes, 
And  Odin  here  in  mimic  trances  dies. 
There  on  rude  iron  columns,  smear'd  with  blood, 
The  horrid  forms  of  Scythian  heroes  stood, 
Druids  and  bards1  (their  once  loud  harps  unstrung) 
And  youths  that  died  to  be  by  poets  sung. 
These  and  a  thousand  more  of  doubtful  fame, 
To  whom  old  fables  gave  a  lasting  name, 
In  ranks  adorn'd  the  temple's  outward  face ; 
The  wall  in  lustre  and  effect  like  glass, 
Which  o'er  each  object  casting  various  dyes, 
Enlarges  some,  and  other  multiplies : 
Nor  void  of  emblem  was  the  mystic  wall, 
For  thus  romantic  fame  increases  all. 

The  temple  shakes,  the  sounding  gates  unfold, 
Wide  vaults  appear,  and  roofs  of  fretted  gold : 
Raised  on  a  thousand  pillars,  wreathed  around 
With  laurel  foliage,  and  with  eagles  crown'd: 
Of  bright,  transparent  beryl  were  the  walls, 
The  friezes  gold,  and  gold  the  capitals: 
As  heaven  with  stars,  the  roof  with  jewels  glows, 
And  ever-living  lamps  depend  in  rows. 
Full  in  the  passage  of  each  spacious  gate, 
The  sage  historians  in  white  garments  wait ; 
Graved  o'er  their  seats  the  form  of  Time  was  found, 
His  scythe  reversed,  and  both  his  pinions  bound. 
Within  stood  heroes,  who  through  loud  alarms 
In  bloody  fields  pursued  renown  in  arms, 
High  on  a  throne  with  trophies  charged,  I  view'd 
The  youth  that  all  things  but  himself  subdued  ;J 

Zamolxis  was  the  disciple  of  Pythagoras,  who  taught  the  immortality 
of  the  soul  to  the  Scythians.  Odin,  or  Woden,  was  the  great  legislator 
and  hero  of  the  Goths.  They  tell  us  of  him,  that,  being  subject  to  fits, 
he  persuaded  his  followers,  that  during  those  trances  he  received  in- 
spirations, from  whence  he  dictated  his  laws ;  he  is  said  to  have  been 
the  inventor  of  the  Kunic  characters. 

1  These  were  the  priests  and  poets  of  those  people,  BO  celebrated  for 
their  savage  virtue.     Those  heroic  barbarians  accounted  it  a  dishonour 
to  die  in  their  beds,  and  rushed  on  to  certain  death  in  the  prospect  of  an 
after-life,  and  for  the  glory  of  a  song  from  their  bards  in  praise  of  their 
actions. 

2  Alexander  the  Great ;  the  tiara  was  the  crown  peculiar  to  the  Asian 
princes;  his  desire  to  be  thought  the  son  of  Jupiter  Arnmon  caused  him 
to  wear  the  horns  of  that  god,  and  to  represent  the  same  upon  hia  coins  • 
which  was  continued  by  several  of  his  successors. 


108  T1IE   TEMPLE   OF    FAME. 

His  feet  on  sceptres  and  tiaras  trod, 
And  his  horn'd  head  belied  the  Libyan  god. 
There  Csesar,  graced  with  both  Miner  vas,  shone; 
Caesar,  the  world's  great  master,  and  his  own; 
Unmoved,  superior  still  in  every  state, 
And  scarce  detested  in  his  country's  fate. 
But  chief  were  those,  who  not  for  empire  fought, 
But  with  their  toils  their  people's  safety  bought : 
High  o'er  the  rest  Epaminondas  stood; 
Timoleon,  glorious  in  his  brother's  blood ;! 
Bold  Scipio,  saviour  of  the  Roman  state ; 
Great  in  his  triumphs,  in  retirement  great ; 
And  wise  Aurelius,  in  whose  well-taught  mind 
With  boundless  power  unbounded  virtue  join'd. 
His  own  strict  judge,  and  patron  of  mankind. 

Much-suffering  heroes  next  their  honours  claim 
Those  of  less  noisy  and  less  guilty  fame, 
Fair  Virtue's  silent  train :  supreme  of  these 
Here  ever  shines  the  godlike  Socrates: 
He  whom  ungrateful  Athens2  could  expel, 
At  all  times  just,  but  when  he  sign'd  the  shell : 
Here  his  abode  the  martyr'd  Phocion  claims, 
With  Agis,  not  the  last  of  Spartan  names : 
Unconquer'd  Cato  shows  the  wound  he  tore, 
And  Brutus  his  ill  genius  meets  no  more. 

But  in  the  centre  of  the  hallow'd  choir,3 
Six  pompous  columns  o'er  the  rest  aspire ; 
Around  the  shrine  itself  of  Fame  they  stand, 
Hold  the  chief  honours,  and  the  fane  command. 

1  Timoleon  had  saved  the  life  of  his  brother  Timophanes  in  the  battle 
between  the  Argives  and  Corinthians ;  but  afterwards  killed  him  when 
he  affected  the  tyranny,  preferring  his  duty  to  his  country  to  all  the 
obligations  of  blood. 

2  Aristides,  who  for  his  great  integrity  was  distinguished  by  the  appel- 
lation of  the  Jutt.     When  his  countrymen  would  have  banished  him  by 
the  ostracism,  where  it  was  the  custom  for  every  man  to  sign  the  name 
of  the  person  he  voted  to  exile  in  an  oyster-shell,  a  peasant,  who  could 
not  write,  came  to  Aristides  to  do  it  for  him,  who  readily  signed  his  own 
name. 

3  In  the  midst  of  the  Temple,  nearest  the  throne  of  Fame,  are  placed 
the  greatest  names  in  learning  of  all  antiquity.     These  are  described  in 
such  attitudes  aa  express  their  different  characters:  the  columns  on 
which  they  are  raised  are  adorned  with  sculptures,  taken  from  the  most 
striking  subjects  of  their  works;  which  sculpture  bears  a  resemblance, 
in  its  manner  and  character,  to  the  manner  and  character  of  their 
writings. 


THE   TEMPLE   OF    FAME.  109 

High  on  the  first,  the  mighty  Homer  shone  ; 
Eternal  adamant  composed  his  throne; 
Father  of  verse,  in  holy  fillets  drest, 
His  silver  beard  waved  gently  o'er  his  breast ; 
Tho'  blind,  a  boldness  in  his  looks  appears : 
In  years  he  seem'd,  but  not  impair'd  by  years. 
The  wars  of  Troy  were  round  the  pillar  seen : 
Here  fierce  Tydides  wounds  the  Cyprian  Queen ; 
Here  Hector  glorious  from  Patrqclus'  fall, 
Here  dragg'd  in  triumph  round  the  Trojan  wall: 
Motion  and  life  did  every  part  inspire, 
Bold  was  the  work,  and  proved  the  master's  fire; 
A  strong  expression  most  he  seem'd  to  affect, 
And  here  and  there  disclosed  a  brave  neglect. 

A  golden  column  next  in  rank  appear'd, 
On  which  a  shrine  of  purest  gold  was  rear'd; 
Finish 'd  the  whole,  and  labour'd  ev'ry  part, 
With  patient  touches  of  unwearied  art : 
The  Mantuan  there  in  sober  triumph  sate, 
Composed  his  posture,  and  his  looks  sedate; 
On  Homer  still  he  fix'd  a  reverend  eye, 
Great  without  pride,  in  modest  majesty. 
In  living  sculpture  on  the  sides  were  spread 
The  Latian  wars,  and  haughty  Turnus  dead; 
Eliza  stretch 'd  upon  the  funeral  pyre, 
./Eneas  bending  with  his  aged  sire : 
Troy  flamed  hi  burning  gold,  and  o'er  the  throne 
ARMS  AND  THE  MAN  in  golden  ciphers  shone. 

Four  swans  sustain  a  car  of  silver  bright,1 
With  heads  advanced,  and  pinions  stretcn'd  for  flight: 
Here,  like  some  furious  prophet,  Pindar  rode, 
And  seem'd  to  labour  with  the  inspiring  god. 
Across  the  harp  a  careless  hand  he  flings, 
And  boldly  sinks  into  the  sounding  strings. 
The  figured  games  of  Greece  the  column  grace, 
Neptune  and  Jove  survey  the  rapid  race. 
The  youths  hang  o'er  the  chariots  as  they  run ; 
The  fiery  steeds  seem  starting  from  the  stone ; 
The  champions  in  distorted  postures  threat; 
And  all  appear'd  irregularly  great. 

1  Pindar,  being  seated  in  a  chariot,  alludes  to  the  chariot-races  he  cele- 
brated in  the  Grecian  games.  The  swans  are  emblems  of  poetry,  their 
Soaring  posture  intimates  the  sublimity  and  activity  of  Ilia  genius.  Neptune 
presided  over  the  Isthmian,  and  Jupiter  over  the  Olympian  game*. 

11* 


HO  THE   TEMPLE   OF   FAME. 

Here  happy  Horace  tuned  the  Ausonian  lyre 
To  sweeter  sounds,  and  temper'd  Pindar's  fire: 
Pleased  with  Alcaeus'  manly  rage  to  infuse 
The  softer  spirit  of  the  Sapphic  muse. 
The  polish'd  pillar  different  sculptures  grace; 
A  work  outlasting  monumental  brass. 
Here  smiling  loves  and  bacchanals  appear, 
The  Julian  star,  and  great  Augustus  here. 
The  doves  that  round  the  infant  poet  spread 
Myrtles  and  bays,  hung  hovering  o'er  his  head. 

Here  in  a  shrine  that  cast  a  dazzling  light, 
Sate  fix'd  in  thought  the  mighty  Stagirite ; 
His  sacred  head  a  radiant  zodiac  crown'd, 
And  various  animals  his  sides  surround ; 
His  piercing  eyes,  erect,  appear  to  view 
Superior  worlds,  and  look  all  nature  through. 

With  equal  rays  immortal  Tully  shone, 
The  Roman  rostra  deck'd  the  consul's  throne : 
Gathering  his  flowing  robe,  he  seem'd  to  stand 
In  act  to  speak,  and  graceful  stretch 'd  his  hand. 
Behind,  Rome's  genius  waits  with  civic  crowns, 
And  the  great  father  of  his  country  owns. 

These  massy  columns  in  a  circle  rise, 
O'er  which  a  pompous  dome  invades  the  skies : 
Scarce  to  the  top  I  stretch'd  my  aching  sight, 
So  large  it  spread,  and  swell'd  to  such  a  height. 
Full  in  the  midst  proud  Fame's  imperial  seat 
With  jewels  blazed,  magnificently  great ; 
The  vivid  emeralds  there  revive  the  eye, 
The  flaming  rubies  show  their  sanguine  dye, 
Bright  azure  rays  from  lively  sapphires  stream, 
And  lucid  amber  casts  a  golden  gleam. 
With  various-colour'd  light  the  pavement  shone, 
And  all  on  fire  appear'd  the  glowing  throne, 
The  dome's  high  arch  reflects  the  mingled  blaze, 
And  forms  a  rainbow  of  alternate  rays. 
When  on  the  goddess  first  I  cast  my  sight, 
Scarce  seem'd  her  stature  of  a  cubit's  height ; 
But  swell'd  to  larger  size,  the  more  I  gazed, 
Till  to  the  roof  her  towering  front  she  raised. 
With  her,  the  temple  every  moment  grew, 
And  ampler  vistas  open'd  to  my  view : 
Upward  the  columns  shoot,  the  roofs  ascend, 
And  arches  widen,  and  long  aisles  extend. 


THE  TEMPLE  OF   FAME.  Ill 

Suet  was  her  form  as  ancient  bards  have  told, 
"Wings  raise  her  arms,  and  wings  her  feet  infold; 
A  thousand  busy  tongues  the  goddess  bears, 
And  thousand  open  eyes,  and  thousand  listening  ears. 
Beneath,  in  order  ranged,  the  tuneful  nine 
(Her  virgin  handmaids)  still  attend  the  shrine : 
With  eyes  on  Fame  for  ever  fix'd,  they  sing  ; 
For  fame  they  raise  the  voice,  and  tune  the  string ; 
With  time's  first  birth  began  the  heavenly  lays, 
And  last,  eternal,  through  the  length  of  days. 

Around  these  wonders  as  I  cast  a  look, 
The  trumpet  sounded,  and  the  Temple  shook. 
And  all  the  nations,  summon'd  at  the  call, 
From  different  quarters  fill  the  crowded  hall : 
Of  various  tongues  the  mingled  sounds  were  heard, 
In  various  garbs  promiscuous  throngs  appear'd; 
Thick  as  the  bees,  that  with  the  spring  renew 
Their  flowery  toils,  and  sip  the  fragrant  dew, 
When  the  wing'd  colonies  first  tempt  the  sky, 
O'er  dusky  fields  and  shaded  waters  fly, 
Or  settling,  seize  the  sweets  the  blossoms  yield, 
And  a  low  murmur  runs  along  the  field. 
Millions  of  suppliant  crowds  the  shrine  attend, 
And  all  degrees  before  the  goddess  bend  ; 
The  poor,  the  rich,  the  valiant,  and  the  sage, 
And  boasting  youth,  and  narrative  old  age. 
Their  pleas  were  different,  their  request  the  same  : 
For  good  and  bad  alike  are  fond  of  fame. 
Some  she  disgraced,  and  some  with  honours  crown'd ; 
Unlike  successes  equal  merits  found. 
Thus  her  blind  sister,  fickle  Fortune,  reigns. 
And,  undiscerning,  scatters  crowns  and  chains. 

First  at  the  shrine  the  learned  world  appear, 
And  to  the  goddess  thus  prefer  their  prayer. 
Long  have  we  sought  to  instruct  and  please  mankind, 
With  studies  pale,  with  midnight  vigils  blind  j 
But  thank'd  by  few,  rewarded  yet  by  none, 
We  here  appeal  to  thy  superior  throne : 
On  wit  and  learning  the  just  prize  bestow, 
For  fame  is  all  we  must  expect  below. 

The  goddess  heard,  and  bade  the  muses  raise 
The  golden  trumpet  of  eternal  praise : 
From  pole  to  pole  the  winds  diffuse  the  sound, 
That  fills  the  circuit  of  the  world  around  : 


Not  all  at  once,  as  thunder  breaks  the  cloud ;     :. 
.Tljte  notes  at  first  were  rather  sweet  than  loud : 
;  By  just  degrees  they  every  moment  rise, 
; ...   Fill  the  wide  earth,  and  gain  upon  the  skies. 
'     At  every  breath  were  balmy  odours  shed, 

'Which  still  grew  sweeter  as  they  wider  spread ; 
Less  fragrant  scents  the  unfolding  rose  exhales, 
Or  spices  breathing  in  Arabian  gales. 

Next  these  the  good  and  just,  an  awful  train, 
Thus  on  their  knees  address  the  sacred  fane. 
Since  living  virtue  is  with  envy  cursed, 
And  the  best  men  are  treated  like  the  \vorst, 
Do  thou,  just  goddess,'  call  our  merits  forth, 
And  give  each  deed  the  exact  intrinsic  worth. 
Not  with  bare  justice  shall  your  act  be  crown'd, 
(Said  Fame,)  but  high  above  desert  renown'd : 
Let  fuller  notes  the  applauding  world  amaze, 
And  the  loud  clarion  labour  in  your  praise. 

This  band  dismiss'd,  behold  another  crowd 
Preferr'd  the  same  request,  and  lowly  bow'd  ; 
The  constant  tenour  of  whose  well-spent  days 
No  less  deserved  a  just  return  of  praise. 
But  straight  the  direful  trump  of  slander  sounds  ; 
Through  the  big  dome  the  doubling  thunder  bounds ; 
Loud  as  the  burst  of  cannon  rends  the  skies, 
The  dire  report  through  every  region  flies, 
In  every  ear  incessant  rumours  rung, 
And  gathering  scandals  grew  on  every  tongue : 
From  the  black  trumpet's  rusty  concave  broke 
Sulphureous  flames,  and  clouds  of  rolling  smoke  : 
The  poisonous  vapour  blots  the  purple  skies, 
And  withers  all  before  it  as  it  flies. 

A  troop  came  next,  who  crowns  and  armour  wore, 
And  proud  defiance  in  their  looks  they  bore  : 
For  thee,  (they  cried)  amidst  alarms  and  strife, 
We  sail'd  in  tempests  down  the  stream  of  life  ; 
For  thee  whole  nations  fill'd  with  flames  and  blood, 
And  swam  to  empire  through  the  purple  flood. 
Those  ills  we  dared,  thy  inspiration  own, 
What  virtue  seem'd,  was  done  for  thee  alone. 
Ambitious  fools  !  (the  queen  replied,  and  frown'd,) 
Be  all  your  acts  in  dark  oblivion  drown'd  ; 
There  sleep  forgot,  with  mighty  tyrants  gone, 
Your  statues  moulder'd,  and  your  names  unknown ! 


THE  TEMPLE  OF  FAME.  113 

A  sudden  cloud  straight  snatch'd  them  from  my  sight, 
And  each  majestic  phantom  sunk  in  night. 

Then  came  the  smallest  tribe  I  yet  had  seen  ; 
Plain  was  their  dress,  and  modest  was  their  mien. 
Great  idol  of  mankind !  we  neither  claim 
The  praise  of  merit,  nor  aspire  to  fame  ! 
But  safe  in  deserts  from  the  applause  of  men, 
Would  die  unheard  of,  as  we  lived  unseen. 
Tis  all  we  beg  thee,  to  conceal  from  sight 
Those  acts  of  goodness,  which  themselves  requite. 
Oh  let  us  still  the  secret  joy  partake, 
To  follow  virtue  e'en  for  virtue's  sake. 

And  live  there  men,  who  slight  immortal  Fame  1 
Who  then  with  incense  shall  adore  our  name? 
But  mortals  !  know,  'tis  still  our  greatest  pride 
To  blaze  those  virtues,  which  the  good  would  hide. 
Eise!  muses,  rise!  add  all  your  tuneful  breath, 
These  must  not  sleep  in  darkness  and  in  death. 
She  said :  in  air  the  trembling  music  floats, 
And  on  the  winds  triumphant  swell  the  notes: 
So  soft,  though  high,  so  loud,  and  yet  so  clear, 
E'en  listening  angels  lean'd  from  heaven  to  hear: 
To  larthest  shores  the  ambrosial  spirit  flies, 
Sweet  to  the  world,  and  grateful  to  the  skies. 

Next  these  a  youthful  train  their  vows  express'd, 
With  feathers  crown'd,  with  gay  embroidery  dress'd; 
Hither  (they  cried)  direct  your  eyes,  and  see 
The  men  of  pleasure,  dress,  and  gallantry ; 
Ours  is  the  place  at  banquets,  balls,  and  plays, 
Sprightly  our  nights,  polite  are  all  our  days ; 
Courts  we  frequent,  where  'tis  our  pleasing  care 
To  pay  due  visits,  and  address  the  fair : 
In  fact,  'tis  true,  no  nymph  we  could  persuade, 
But  still  in  fancy  vanquished  every  maid  ! 
Of  unknown  duchesses  lewd  tales  we  tell, 
Yet,  would  the  world  believe  us,  all  were  well. 
The  joy  let  others  have,  and  we  the  name, 
And  what  we  want  in  pleasure,  grant  in  fame. 

The  Queen  assents,  the  trumpet  rends  the  skies, 
And  at  each  blast  a  lady's  honour  dies.  [press'd 

Pleased  with  the  strange  success,  vast  numbers 
Around  the  shrine,  and  made  the  same  request: 
What !  you  (she  cried)  unlearn'd  in  arts  to  please, 
Slaves  to  yourselves,  and  even  fatigued  with  ease, 


114  THE   TEMPLE   OF   FAME. 

Who  lose  a  length  of  undeserving  days, 
Would  you  usurp  the  lover's  dear-bought  praise  ? 
To  just  contempt,  ye  vain  pretenders,  fall, 
The  people's  fable,  and  the  scorn  of  all. 
Straight  the  black  clarion  sends  a  horrid  sound, 
Loud  laughs  burst  out,  and  bitter  scoffs  fly  round, 
Whispers  are  heard,  with  taunts  reviling  loud, 
And  scornful  hisses  run  through  all  the  crowd. 

Last,  those  who  boast  of  mighty  mischiefs  done, 
Enslave  their  country,  or  usurp  a  throne ; 
Or  who  their  glory's  dire  foundation  laid 
On  sovereigns  ruin'd,  or  on  friends  betray'd ; 
Calm,  thinking  villains,  whom  no  faith  could  fix, 
Of  crooked  counsels  and  dark  politics ; 
Of  these  a  gloomy  tribe  surround  the  throne, 
And  beg  to  make  the  immortal  treasons  known. 
The  trumpet  roars,  long  flaky  flames  expire, 
With  sparks,  that  seem'd  to  set  the  world  on  fire. 
At  the  dread  sound,  pale  mortals  stood  aghast, 
And  startled  nature  trembled  with  the  blast. 

This  having  heard  and  seen,  some  power  unknown 
Straight  changed  the  scene,  and  snatch 'd  me  from  the 
Before  my  view  appear'd  a  structure  fair,       [throne. 
Its  site  uncertain,  if  in  earth  or  air; 
With  rapid  motion  turn'd  the  mansion  round ; 
With  ceaseless  noise  the  ringing  walls  resound ; 
Not  less  in  number  were  the  spacious  doors, 
Than  leaves  on  trees,  or  sands  upon  the  shores; 
Which  still  unfolded  stand,  by  night,  by  day, 
Pervious  to  winds,  and  open  every  way. 
As  flames  by  nature  to  the  skies  ascend, 
As  weighty  bodies  to  the  centre  tend, 
As  to  the  sea  returning  rivers  roll, 
And  the  touch'd  needle  trembles  to  the  pole  ; 
Hither,  as  to  their  proper  place,  arise 
All  various  sounds  from  earth,  and  seas,  and  skies, 
Or  spoke  aloud,  or  whisper 'd  in  the  ear; 
Nor  ever  silence,  rest,  or  peace,  is  here. 
As  on  the  smooth  expanse  of  crystal  lakes 
The  sinking  stone  at  first  a  circle  makes; 
The  trembling  surface  by  the  motion  stirr'd, 
Spreads  in  a  second  circle,  then  a  third ; 
Wide,  and  more  wide,  the  floating  rings  advance, 
Fill  all  the  watery  plain,  and  to  the  margin  dance  : 


TUB  TEMPLE   OF   FAME,  115 

Thus  every  voice  and  sound,  when  first  they  break, 
On  neighbouring  air  a  soft  impression  make ; 
Another  ambient  circle  then  they  move; 
That,  in  its  turn,  impels  the  next  above ; 
Through  undulating  air  the  sounds  are  sent, 
And  spread  o'er  all  the  fluid  element. 

There  various  news  I  heard  of  love  and  strife, 
Of  peace  and  war,  health,  sickness,  death,  and  life, 
Of  loss  and  gain,  of  famine  and  of  store, 
Of  storms  at  sea,  and  travels  on  the  shore, 
Of  prodigies,  and  portents  seen  in  air, 
Of  fires  and  plagues,  and  stars  with  blazing  hair, 
Of  turns  of  fortune,  changes  in  the  state, 
The  fall  of  favourites,  projects  of  the  great^ 
Of  old  mismanagements,  taxations  new: 
All  neither  wholly  false,  nor  wholly  true. 

Above,  below,  without,  within,  around, 
Confused,  unnumber'd  multitudes  are  found, 
Who  pass,  repass,  advance,  and  glide  away ; 
Hosts  raised  by  fear,  and  phantoms  of  a  day: 
Astrologers,  that  future  fates  foreshow, 
Projectors,  quacks,  and  lawyers  not  a  few; 
And  priests,  and  party-zealots,  numerous  bands 
With  home-born  lies,  or  tales  from  foreign  lands ; 
Each  talk'd  aloud,  or  in  some  secret  place, 
And  wild  impatience  stared  in  every  face. 
The  flying  rumours  gather'd  as  they  roll'd, 
Scarce  auy  tale  was  sooner  heard  than  told; 
And  all  who  told  it  added  something  new, 
And  all  who  heard  it  made  enlargements  too ; 
In  every  ear  it  spread,  on  every  tongue  it  grew. 
Thus  flying  east  and  west,  and  north  and  south, 
News  travell'd  with  increase  from  mouth  to  mouth. 
So  from  a  spark,  that  kindled  first  by  chance, 
With  gathering  force  the  quickening  flames  advance ; 
Till  to  the  clouds  their  curling  heads  aspire, 
And  towers  and  temples  sink  in  floods  of  fire. 

When  thus  ripe,  lies  are  to  perfection  sprung, 
Full  grown,  and  fit  to  grace  a  mortal  tongue, 
Through  thousand  vents,  impatient,  forth  they  flow, 
And  rush  in  millions  on  the  world  below. 
Fame  sits  aloft,  and  points  them  out  their  course, 
Their  date  determines,  and  prescribes  their  force: 


116  THE  TEMPLE   OF   FAME. 

Some  to  remain,  and  some  to  perish  soon ; 
Or  wane  and  wax  alternate  like  the  moon. 
Around,  a  thousand  winged  wonders  fly,  [sky. 

Borne  by  the  trumpet's  blast,  and  scatter'd  through  the 

There,  at  one  passage,  oft  you  might  survey, 
A  lie  and  truth  contending  for  the  way; 
And  long  'twas  doubtful,  both  so  closely  pent, 
Which  first  should  issue  through  the  narrow  vent: 
At  last  agreed,  together  out  they  fly, 
Inseparable  now,  the  truth  and  lie ; 
The.strict  companions  are  for  ever  join'd, 
And  this  or  that  unmix'd,  no  mortal  e'er  shall  find. 

While  thus  I  stood,  intent  to  see  and  hear, 
One  came,  methought,  and  whisper'd  in  my  ear : 
What  could  thus  high  thy  rash  ambition  raise  ? 
Art  thou,  fond  youth,  a  candidate  for  praise  ? 

'Tis  true,  said  I,  not  void  of  hopes  I  came, 
For  who  so  fond  as  youthful  bards  of  Fame  ? 
But  few,  alas !  the  casual  blessing  boast, 
So  hard  to  gain,  so  easy  to  be  lost. 
How  vain  that  second  life  in  others'  breath, 
The  estate  which  wits  inherit  after  death ! 
Ease,  health,  and  life,  for  this  they  must  resign, 
(Unsure  the  tenure,  but  how  vast  the  fine !) 
The  great  man's  curse,  without  the  gains,  endure, 
Be  envied,  wretched  ;  and  be  flatter'd,  poor; 
All  luckless  wits  their  enemies  profess'd, 
And  all  successful,  jealous  friends  at  best. 
Nor  Fame  I  slight,  nor  for  her  favours  call; 
She  comes  unlook'd  for,  if  she  conies  at  all. 
But  if  the  purchase  costs  so  dear  a  price, 
As  soothing  folly,  or  exalting  vice : 
Oh!  if  the  muse  must  flatter  lawless  sway, 
And  follow  still  where  fortune  leads  the  way ; 
Or  if  no  basis  bear  my  rising  name, 
But  the  fallen  ruins  of  another's  fame ; 
Then  teach  me,  Heaven !  to  scorn  the  guilty  bays, 
Drive  from  my  breast  that  wretched  lust  of  praise; 
Unblemish'd  let  me  live,  or  die  unknown; 
Oh!  grant  an  honest  fame,  or  grant  me  none! 


117 
JANUARY  AND  MAY; 


FBOM  CHAUCER. 

THERE  lived  in  Lombardy,  as  authors  write, 

In  days  of  old,  a  wise  and  worthy  knight; 

Of  gentle  manners,  as  of  generous  race, 

Blest  with  much  sense,  more  riches,  and  some  grace. 

Yet  led  astray  by  Venus'  soft  delighte, 

He  scarce  could  rule  some  idle  appetites: 

For  long  ago,  let  priests  say  what  they  could, 

Weak  sinful  laymen  were  but  flesh  and  blood. 

But  in  due  tune,  when  sixty  years  were  o'er, 
He  vow'd  to  lead  this  vicious  life  no  more  ; 
Whether  pure  holiness  inspired  his  mind, 
Or  dotage  turn'd  his  brain,  is  hard  to  find  ; 
But  his  high  courage  prick'd  him  forth  to  wed, 
And  try  the  pleasures  of  a  lawful  bed. 
This  was  his  nightly  dream,  his  daily  care, 
And  to  the  heavenly  powers  his  constant  prayer, 
Once,  ere  he  died,  to  taste  the  blissful  life 
Of  a  kind  husband  and  a  loving  wife. 

These  thoughts  he  fortified  with  reasons  still, 
(For  none  want  reasons  to  confirm  their  will.) 
Grave  authors  say,  and  witty  poets  sing, 
That  honest  wedlock  is  a  glorious  thing  : 
But  depth  of  judgment  most  in  him  appears, 
Who  wisely  weds  in  his  maturer  years, 
Then  let  him  choose  a  damsel  young  and  fair, 
To  bless  his  age,  and  bring  a  worthy  heir  ; 
To  soothe  his  cares,  and  free  from  noise  and  strife, 
Conduct  him  gently  to  the  verge  of  life. 
Let  sinful  bachelors  their  woes  deplore, 
Full  well  they  merit  all  they  feel,  and  more; 
Unawed  by  precepts  human  or  divine, 
Like  birds  and  beasts,  promiscuously  they  join: 
Nor  know  to  make  the  present  blessing  last, 
To  hope  the  future,  or  esteem  the  past: 
But  vainly  boast  the  joys  they  never  tried, 
And  find  divulged  the  secrets  they  would  hide. 

12 


118  JANUARY   AND   MAY. 

The  married  man  may  bear  his  yoke  with  ease, 

Secure  at  once  himself  and  Heaven  to  please; 

And  pass  his  inoffensive  hours  away, 

In  bliss  all  night,  and  innocence  all  day: 

Though  fortune  change,  his  constant  spouse  remains, 

Augments  his  joys,  or  mitigates  his  pains. 

But  what  so  pure,  which  envious  tongues  will  spare  ? 
Some  wicked  wits  have  libell'd  all  the  fair. 
With  matchless  impudence  they  style  a  wife 
The  dear-bought  curse,  and  lawful  plague  of  life ; 
A  bosom-serpent,  a  domestic  evil, 
A  night  invasion,  and  a  mid-day  devil. 
Let  not  the  wise  these  slanderous  words  regard, 
But  curse  the  bones  of  every  lying  bard ; 
All  other  goods  by  fortune's  hand  are  given, 
A  wife  is  the  peculiar  gift  of  Heaven. 
Vain  fortune's  favours,  never  at  a  stay, 
Like  empty  shadows,  pass,  and  glide  away; 
One  solid  comfort,  our  eternal  wife, 
Abundantly  supplies  us  all  our  life: 
This  blessing  lasts  (if  those  who  try,  say  true) 
As  long  as  heart  can  wish — and  longer  too. 

Our  grandsire  Adam,  ere  of  Eve  possess'd, 
Alone,  and  even  in  Paradise  unbless'd, 
With  mournful  looks  the  blissful  scenes  survey'd, 
And  wander'd  in  the  solitary  shade : 
The  Maker  saw,  took  pity,  and  bestow'd 
Woman,  the  last,  the  best  reserved  of  God, 

A  wife !  ah  gentle  deities,  can  he 
That  has  a  wife  e'er  feel  adversity  ? 
Would  men  but  follow  what  the  sex  advise, 
All  things  would  prosper,  all  the  world  grow  wise. 
Twas  by  Eebecca's  aid  that  Jacob  won 
His  father's  blessing  from  an  elder  son: 
Abusive  Nabal  owed  his  forfeit  life 
To  the  wise  conduct  of  a  prudent  wife : 
Heroic  Judith,  as  old  Hebrews  show, 
Preserved  the  Jews,  and  slew  the  Assyrian  foe: 
At  Hester's  suit,  the  persecuting  sword 
Was  sheathed,  and  Israel  lived  to  bless  the  Lord. 

These  weighty  motives,  January  the  sage 
Maturely  pondered  in  his  riper  age ; 
And  charm'd  with  virtuous  joys,  and  sober  life, 
Would  try  that  Christian  comfort,  call'd  a  wife. 


JANUARY   AND   MAY.  119 

His  friends  were  summon'd  on  a  point  so  nice, 
To  pass  their  judgment,  and  to  give  advice ; 
But  fix'd  before,  and  well  resolved  was  he ; 
(As  men  that  ask  advice  are  wont  to  be.) 

My  friends,  he  cried  (and  cast  a  mournful  look 
Around  the  room,  and  sigh'd  before  he  spoke), 
Beneath  the  weight  of  threescore  years  I  bend, 
And,  worn  with  cares,  am  hastening  to  my  end ; 
How  have  I  lived,  alas !  you  know  too  well, 
In  worldly  follies,  which  I  blush  to  tell ; 
But  gracious  Heaven  has  ope'd  my  eyes  at  last, 
With  due  regret  I  view  my  vices  past 
And,  as  the  precept  of  the  Church  decrees, 
Will  take  a  wife,  and  live  in  holy  ease. 
But  since  by  counsel  all  things  should  be  done, 
And  many  heads  are  wiser  still  than  one ; 
Choose  you  for  me,  who  best  shall  be  content 
When  my  desire's  approved  by  vour  consent. 

One  caution  yet  is  needful  to  be  told, 
To  guide  your  choice ;  this  wife  must  not  be  old : 
There  goes  a  saying,  and  'twas  shrewdly  said, 
Old  fish  at  table,  but  young  flesh  in  bed. 
My  soul  abhors  the  tasteless,  dry  embrace 
Of  a  stale  virgin  with  a  winter  face : 
In  that  cold  season  Love  but  treats  his  guest 
With  bean-straw  and  tough  forage  at  the  best. 
No  crafty  widows  shall  approach  my  bed ; 
Those  are  too  wise  for  bachelors  to  wed. 
As  subtle  clerks  by  many  schools  are  made, 
Twice-married  dames  are  mistresses  o'  th'  trade: 
But  young  and  tender  virgins,  ruled  with  ease, 
We  form  like  wax,  and  mould  them  as  we  please. 

Conceive  me,  Sirs,  nor  take  my  sense  amiss; 
Tis  what  concerns  my  soul's  eternal  bliss ; 
Since  if  I  found  no  pleasure  in  my  spouse, 
As  flesh  is  frail,  and  who  (God  help  me)  knows  ? 
Then  should  I  live  in  lewd  adultery, 
And  sink  downright  to  Satan  when  I  die. 
Or  were  I  cursed  with  an  unfruitful  bed, 
The  righteous  end  were  lost  for  which  I  wed; 
To  raise  up  seed  to  bless  the  powers  above, 
And  not  for  pleasure  only,  or  for  love. 
Think  not  I  dote ;  'tis  time  to  take  a  wife, 
When  vigorous  blood  forbids  a  chaster  life; 


120  JANUAUY  AND   MAY. 

Those  that  are  blest  with  store  of  grace  divine, 
May  live  like  saints  by  Heaven's  consent,  and  mine. 

And  since  I  speak  of  wedlock,  let  me  say, 
(As,  thank  my  stars,  in  modest  truth  I  may) 
My  limbs  are  active,  still  I'm  sound  at  heart, 
And  a  new  vigour  springs  in  every  part. 
Think  not  my  virtue  lost,  tho'  time  has  shed 
These  reverend  honours  on  my  hoary  head: 
Thus  trees  are  crown'd  with  blossoms  white  as  snow, 
The  vital  sap  then  rising  from  below, 
Old  as  I  am,  my  lusty  limbs  appear 
Like  winter  greens,  that  flourish  all  the  year. 
Now,  Sirs,  you  know  to  what  I  stand  inclined, 
Let  every  friend  with  freedom  speak  his  mind. 

He  said ;  the  rest  in  different  parts  divide ; 
The  knotty  point  was  urged  on  either  side : 
Marriage,  the  theme  on  which  they  all  declaim'd ; 
Some  praised  with  wit,  and  some  with  reason  blamed. 
Till,  what  with  proofs,  objections,  and  replies, 
Each  wondrous  positive,  and  wondrous  wise, 
There  fell  between  his  brothers  a  debate, 
Placebo  this  was  called,  and  Justin  that. 

First  to  the  Knight  Placebo  thus  begun 
(Mild  were  his  looks,  and  pleasing  was  his  tone) : 
Such  prudence,  Sir,  in  all  your  words  appears, 
As  plainly  proves,  experience  dwells  with  years! 
Yet  you  pursue  sage  Solomon's  advice, 
To  work  by  counsel  when  affairs  are  nice : 
But,  with  the  wise  man's  leave,  I  must  protest, 
So  may  my  soul  arrive  at  ease  and  rest, 
As  still  I  hold  your  own  advice  the  best. 

Sir,  I  have  lived  a  courtier  all  my  days, 
And  studied  men,  their  manners,  and  their  ways; 
And  have  observed  this  useful  maxim  still, 
To  let  my  betters  always  have  their  will. 
Nay,  if  my  lord  affirm 'd  that  black  was  white, 
My  word  was  this,  "  Your  honour's  in  the  right." 
Th»  assuming  wit,  who  deems  himself  so  wise 
As  his  mistaken  patron  to  advise, 
Let  him  not  dare  to  vent  his  dangerous  thought^ 
A  noble  fool  was  never  in  a  fault. 
This,  Sir,  affects  not  you,  whose  every  word 
Is  weigh'd  with  judgment,  and  befits  a  lord: 


JANUARY   AND  MAY.  121 

Your  will  is  mine ;  and  is  (I  will  maintain) 
Pleasing  to  God,  and  should  be  so  to  man ; 
At  least  your  courage  all  the  world  must  praise, 
Who  dare  to  wed  in  your  declining  days. 
Indulge  the  vigour  of  your  mounting  blood, 
And  let  grey  fools  be  indolently  good, 
Who,  past  all  pleasure,  damn  the  joys  of  sense, 
With  reverend  dulness  and  grave  impotence. 

Justin,  who  silent  sate,  and  heard  the  man, 
Thus,  with  a  philosophic  frown,  began: 

A  heathen  author,  of  the  first  degree 
(Who^tho*  not  faith,  had  sense  as  well  as  we), 
Bids  us  be  certain  our  concerns  to  trust 
To  those  of  generous  principles,  and  just. 
The  venture's  greater,  I'll  presume  to  say, 
To  give  your  person,  than  your  goods  away: 
Ana  therefore,  Sir,  as  you  regard  your  rest, 
First  learn  your  lady's  qualities  at  least; 
Whether  she's  chaste  or  rampant,  proud  or  civil ; 
Meek  as  a  saint,  or  haughty  as  the  devil ; 
Whether  an  easy,  fond,  familiar  fool, 
Or  such  a  wit  as  no  man  e'er  can  rule. 
*Tis  true,  perfection  none  must  hope  to  find 
In  all  this  world,  much  less  in  woman-kind ; 
But  if  her  virtues  prove  the  larger  share, 
Bless  the  kind  fates,  and  think  your  fortune  rare. 
Ah,  gentle  Sir,  take  warning  of  a  friend, 
Who  knows  too  well  the  state  you  thus  commend ; 
And  spite  of  all  his  praises  must  declare, 
All  he  can  find  is  bondage,  cost,  and  care. 
Heaven  knows,  I  shed  full  many  a  private  tear, 
And  sigh  in  silence,  lest  the  world  should  hear; 
While  all  my  friends  applaud  my  blissful  life, 
And  swear  no  mortal's  happier  in  a  wife ; 
Demure  and  chaste  as  any  vestal  nun, 
The  meekest  creature  that  beholds  the  sun ! 
But,  by  the  immortal  powers,  I  feel  the  pain, 
And  he  that  smarts  has  reason  to  complain. 
Do  what  you  list,  for  me  ;  you  must  be  sage, 
And  cautious  sure ;  for  wisdom  is  in  age : 
But  at  these  years  to  venture  on  the  fair  ! 
By  him  who  made  the  ocean,  earth,  and  air, 
To  please  a  wife,  when  her  occasions  call, 
Would  busy  the  most  vigorous  of  us  alL 

12* 


122  JANUARY   AND   MAY. 

And  trust  me,  Sir,  the  chastest  you  can  choose 
Will  ask  observance,  and  exact  her  dues. 
If  what  I  speak  my  noble  lord  offend, 
My  tedious  sermon  here  is  at  an  end. 

Tis  well,  'tis  wondrous  well,  the  Knight  replies, 
Most  worthy  kinsmen,  faith  you're  mighty  wise ! 
We,  Sirs,  are  fools ;  and  must  resign  the  cause 
To  heathenish  authors,  proverbs,  and  old  saws. 
He  spoke  with  scorn,  and  turn'd  another  way  :— 
What  does  my  friend,  my  dear  Placebo,  say  ? 

I  say,  quoth  he,  by  Heaven  the  man's  to  blame, 
To  slander  wives,  and  wedlock's  holy  name. 

At  this  the  council  rose,  without  delay; 
Each,  in  his  own  opinion,  went  his  way ; 
With  full  consent,  that,  all  disputes  appeased ; 
The  Knight  should  marry,  when  and  where  he  pleased. 

Who  now  but  January  exults  with  joy  ? 
The  charms  of  wedlock  all  his  soul  employ: 
Each  nymph  by  turns  his  wavering  mind  possest, 
And  reign'd  the  short-lived  tyrant  of  his  breast  j 
Whilst  fancy  pictured  every  lively  part, 
And  each  bright  image  wander'd  o'er  his  heart. 
Thus,  in  some  public  forum  fix'd  on  high, 
A  mirror  shows  the  figures  moving  by ; 
Still  one  by  one,  in  swift  succession,  pass 
The  gliding  shadows  o'er  the  polish'd  glass. 
This  lady's  charms  the  nicest  could  not  blame, 
But  vile  suspicions  had  aspersed  her  fame ; 
That  was  with  sense,  but  not  with  virtue  blest : 
And  one  had  grace,  that  wanted  all  the  rest. 
Thus  doubting  long  what  nymph  he  should  obey, 
He  fixed  at  last  upon  the  youthful  May. 
Her  faults  he  knew  not,  Love  is  always  blind, 
But  every  charm  revolved  within  his  mind: 
Her  tender  age,  her  form  divinely  fair, 
Her  easy  motion,  her  attractive  air, 
Her  sweet  behaviour,  her  enchanting  face, 
Her  moving  softness,  and  majestic  grace. 
Much  in  his  prudence  did  our  Knight  rejoice. 
And  thought  no  mortal  could  dispute  his  choice: 
Once  more  in  haste  he  summon'd  ev'ry  friend, 
And  told  them  all,  their  pains  were  at  an  end. 


JANUARY  AND  MAY.  123 

Heaven,  that  (said  he)  inspired  me  first  to  wed, 
Provides  a  consort  worthy  of  my  bed : 
Let  none  oppose  the  election,  since  on  this 
Depends  my  quiet,  and  my  future  bliss. 

A  dame  there  is,  the  darling  of  my  eyes, 
Young,  beauteous,  artless,  innocent,  and  wise; 
Chaste,  tho'  not  rich ;  and  tho'  not  nobly  born, 
Of  honest  parents,  and  may  serve  my  turn. 
Her  will  I  wed,  if  gracious  Heaven  so  please ; 
To  pass  my  age  in  sanctity  and  ease ; 
And  thank  the  powers,  I  may  possess  alone 
The  lovely  prize,  and  share  my  bliss  with  none ! 
If  you,  my  friends,  this  virgin  can  procure, 
My  joys  are  full,  my  happiness  is  sure. 

One  only  doubt  remains4!  full  oft,  I've  heard, 
By  casuists  grave,  and  deep  divines  averr'd ; 
That  'tis  too  much  for  human  race  to  know 
The  bliss  of  heaven  above,  and  earth  below. 
Now  should  the  nuptial  pleasures  prove  so  great, 
To  match  the  blessings  of  the  future  state, 
Those  endless  joys  were  ill-exchanged  for  these ; 
Then  clear  this  doubt,  and  set  my  mind  at  ease. 

This  Justin  heard,  nor  could  his  spleen  control, 
Touch'd  to  the  quick,  and  tickled  at  the  soul. 
Sir  Knight,  he  cried,  if  this  be  all  you  dread, 
Heaven  put  it  past  a  doubt,  whene'er  you  wed ; 
And  to  my  fervent  prayers  so  far  consent, 
That  ere  the  rites  are  o'er,  you  may  repent ! 
Good  heaven,  no  doubt,  the  nuptial  state  approves 
Since  it  chastises  still  what  best  it  loves. 

Then  be  not,  Sir,  abandon'd  to  despair ; 
Seek,  and  perhaps  you'll  find  among  the  iair, . 
One,  that  may  do  your  business  to  a  hair; 
Not  e'en  in  wish,  your  happiness  delay, 
But  prove  the  scourge  to  lash^you  on  your  way: 
Then  to  the  skies  your  mounting  soul  shall  go, 
Swift  as  an  arrow  soaring  from  the  bow ! 
Provided  still,  you  moderate  your  joy, 
Nor  in  your  pleasures  all  your  might  employ, 
Let  reason's  rule  your  strong  desires  abate, 
Nor  please  too  lavishly  your  gentle  mate. 
Old  wives  there  are,  of  judgment  most  acute, 
Who  solve  these  questions  beyond  all  dispute ; 


124  JANUARY   AND    MAY. 

Consult  with  those,  and  be  of  better  cheer; 
Marry,  do  penance,  and  dismiss  your  i'ear. 

So  said,  they  rose,  nor  more  the  work  delay'd; 
The  match  was  offer'd,  the  proposals  made. 
The  parents,  you  may  think,  would  soon  comply ; 
The  old  have  interest  ever  in  their  eye. 

Nor  was  it  hard  to  move  the  lady's  mind ; 
When  fortune  favours,  still  the  fair  are  kind. 

I  pass  each  previous  settlement  and  deed, 
Too  long  for  me  to  write,  or  you  to  read ; 
Nor  will  with  quaint  impertinence  display 
The  pomp,  the  pageantry,  the  proud  array. 
The  time  approach'd  ;  to  church  the  parties  went, 
At  once  with  carnal  and  devout  intent : 
Forth  came  the  priestf  and  bade  the  obedient  wife 
Like  Sarah  or  Kebecca  lead  her  life  : 
Then  pray'd  the  powers  the  fruitful  bed  to  bless, 
And  made  all  sure  enough  with  holiness. 

And  now  the  palace-gates  are  open'd  wide, 
The  guests  appear  in  order,  side  by  side, 
And  placed  in  state,  the  bridegroom  and  the  bride. 
The  breathing  flute's  soft  notes  are  heard  around, 
And  the  shrill  trumpets  mix  their  silver  sound ; 
The  vaulted  roofs  with  echoing  music  ring,       [string. 
These  touch  the  vocal  stops,  and  those  the  trembling 
Not  thus  Amphion  tuned  the  warbling  lyre, 
Nor  Joab  the  sounding  clarion  could  inspire, 
Nor  fierce  Theodamas,  whose  sprightly  strain 
Could  swell  the  soul  to  rage,  and  fire  the  martial  train. 

Bacchus  himself,  the  nuptial  feast  to  grace, 
(So  Poets  sing)  was  present  on  the  place : 
And  lovely  Venus,  goddess  of  delight, 
Shook  high  her  flaming  torch  in  open  sight, 
And  danced  around,  and  smiled  on  every  knight : 
Pleased  her  best  servant  would  his  courage  try, 
No  less  in  wedlock,  than  in  liberty. 
Full  many  an  age  old  Hymen  had  not  spied 
So  kind  a  bridegroom,  or  so  bright  a  bride.  • 
Ye  bards  !  renown'd  among  the  tuneful  throng 
For  gentle  lays,  and  joyous  nuptial  song; 
Think  not  your  softest  numbers  can  display 
The  matchless  glories  of  this  blissful  day; 
The  joys  are  such,  as  far  transcend  your  rage, 
When  tender  youth  has  wedded  stooping  age. 


p.  124. 


JANUAKV    ANI>    M,\V. 


The  guests  appear  in  order,  side  by  side, 

-\IM!.  place,!  in  »tttio,  Hut  brWogiooni.»n.l  the  bride. 


JANUARY  AND  MAT.  125 

The  beauteous  dame  sat  smiling  at  the  board, 
And  darted  amorous  glances  at  her  lord. 
Not  Esther's  self,  whose  charms  the  Hebrews  sing, 
E'er  look'd  so  lovely  on  her  Persian  king : 
Bright  as  the  rising  sun,  in  summer's  day, 
And  fresh  and  blooming  as  the  month  of  May ! 
The  joyful  knight  survey'd  her  by  his  side, 
Nor  envied  Paris  with  the  Spartan  bride ; 
Still  as  his  mind  revolved  with  vast  delight 
The  entrancing  raptures  of  the  approaching  night, 
Restless  he  sate,  invoking  every  power 
To  speed  his  bliss,  and  haste  the  happy  hour. 
Meantime  the  vigorous  dancers  beat  the  ground, 
And  songs  were  sung,  and  flowing  bowls  went  round. 
With  odorous  spices  they  perfumed  the  place, 
And  mirth  and  pleasure  shone  in  every  face. 

Damian  alone,  of  all  the  menial  train, 
Sad  in  the  midst  of  triumphs,  sigh'd  for  pain  ; 
Damian  alone,  the  knight's  obsequious  squire, 
Consumed  at  heart,  and  fed  a  secret  fire. 
His  lovely  mistress  all  his  soul  possess'd ; 
He  look'd,  he  languish'd,  and  could  take  no  rest 
His  task  perform'd,  he  sadly  went  his  way, 
Fell  on  his  bed,  and  loathed  the  light  of  day. 
There  let  him  lie ;  till  his  relenting  dame 
Weep  in  her  turn,  and  waste  in  equal  flame. 

The  weary  sun,  as  learned  poets  write> 
Forsook  the  horizon,  and  roll'd  down  the  light; 
While  glittering  stars  his  absent  beams  supply, 
And  night's  dark  mantle  overspread  the  sky. 
Then  rose  the  guests :  and,  as  the  time  required, 
Each  paid  his  thanks,  and  decently  retired. 

The  foe  once  gone,  our  Knight  prepared  to  undress, 
So  keen  he  was,  and  eager  to  possess : 
But  first  thought  fit  the  assistance  to  receive, 
Which  grave  physicians  scruple  not  to  give ; 
Satyrion  near,  with  hot  eringos  stood, 
Cantharides,  to  fire  the  lazy  blood, 
Whose  use  old  bards  describe  in  luscious  rhymes, 
And  critics  learn'd  explain  to  modern  times. 

By  this  the  sheets  were  spread,  the  bride  undress'd, 
The  room  was  sprinkled,  and  the  bed  was  bless'd. 
What  next  ensued  beseems  not  me  to  say ; 
Tis  sung,  he  laboured  till  the  dawning  day, 


126  JANUARY  AND   MAT. 

Then  briskly  sprung  trom  bed,  with  heart  so  light, 

As  all  were  nothing  he  had  done  by  night; 

And  sipp'd  his  cordial  as  he  sat  upright. 

He  kiss'd  his  balmy  spouse  with  wanton  play, 

And  feebly  sung  a  lusty  roundelay:    . 

Then  on  the  couch  his  weary  limbs  he  cast ; 

For  every  labour  must  have  rest  at  last. 

But  anxious  cares  the  pensive  squire  oppress'd, 
Sleep  fled  his  eyes,  and  peace  forsook  his  breast ; 
The  raging  flames  that  in  his  bosom  dwell, 
He  wanted  art  to  hide,  and  means  to  tell. 
Yet  hoping  time  the  occasion  might  betray, 
Composed  a  sonnet  to  the  lovely  May ; 
Which,  writ  and  folded  with  the  nicest  art, 
He  wrapp'd  in  silk,  and  laid  upon  his  heart. 

When  now  the  fourth  revolving  day  was  run, 
('Twas  June — and  Cancer  had  received  the  sun) 
Forth  from  her  chamber  came  the  beauteous  bride, 
The  good  old  knight  moved  slowly  by  her  side. 
High  mass  was  sung;  they  feasted  in  the  hall; 
The  servants  round  stood  ready  at  their  call. 

The  squire  alone  was  absent  from  the  board, 
And  much  his  sickness  grieved  his  worthy  lord, 
Who  pray'd  his  spouse,  attended  with  her  train, 
To  visit  Damian,  and  divert  his  pain. 
The  obliging  dames  obey'd  with  one  consent; 
They  left  the  hall,  and  to  his  lodging  went. 
The  female  tribe  surround  him  as  he  lay, 
And  £lose  beside  him  sat  the  gentle  May : 
Where,  as  she  tried  his  pulse,  he  softly  drew 
A  heaving  sigh,  and  cast  a  mournful  view ! 
Then  gave  his  bill,  and  bribed  the  powers  divine, 
With  secret  vows  to  favour  his  design. 

Who  studies  now  but  discontented  May  ? 
On  her  soft  couch  uneasily  she  lay : 
The  lumpish  husband  snored  away  the  night, 
Till  coughs  awaked  him  near  the  morning  light. 
What  then  he  did,  I'll  not  presume  to  tell, 
Nor  if  she  thought  herself  in  heaven  or  hell : 
Honest  and  dull  in  nuptial  bed  they  lay, 
Till  the  bell  toll'd,  and  all  arose  to  pray. 

Were  it  by  forceful  destiny  decreed, 
Or  did  from  chance,  or  nature's  power  proceed  j 


JANUAUY   AND    MAY.  127 

Or  that  some  star,  with  aspect  kind  to  love 
Shed  its  selectest  influence  from  above ; 
Whatever  was  the  cause,  the  tender  dame 
Felt  the  first  motions  of  an  infant  flame ; 
Received  the  impressions  of  the  love-sick  squire, 
And  wasted  in  the  soft  infectious  fire. 
Ye  fair,  draw  near,  let  May's  example  move 
Your  gentle  minds  to  pity  those  who  love ! 
Had  some  fierce  tyrant  in  her  stead  been  found, 
The  poor  adorer  sure  had  hang'd,  or  drown'd : 
But  she,  your  sex's  mirror,  free  from  pride, 
Was  much  too  meek  to  prove  a  homicide. 

But  to  my  tale :  Some  sages  have  defined 
Pleasure  the  sovereign  bliss  of  human-kind : 
Our  Knight  (who  studied  much,  we  may  suppose) 
Derived  his  high  philosophy  from  those; 
For,  like  a  prince,  he  bore  the  vast  expense 
Of  lavish  pomp,  and  proud  magnificence : 
His  house  was  stately,  his  retinue  gay, 
Large  was  his  train,  and  gorgeous  his  array. 
His  spacious  garden,  made  to  yield  to  none, 
Was  compass'd  round  with  walls  of  solid  stone; 
Priapus  could  not  half  describe  the  grace 
(Though  god  of  gardens)  of  this  charming  place : 


A  place  to  tire  the  rambling  wits  of  France 
In  long  descriptions,  and  exceed  romance: 
Enough  to  shame  the  gentlest  bard  that  sings 
Of      '  '    ' 


f  painted  meadows,  and  of  purling  springs. 

Full  in  the  centre  of  the  flowery  ground, 
A  crystal  fountain  spread  its  streams  around, 
The  fruitful  banks  with  verdant  laurels  crowii'd: 
About  this  spring  (if  ancient  fame  say  true) 
The  dapper  elves  their  moonlight  sports  pursue : 
Their  pigmy  king,  and  little  fairy  queen, 
In  circling  dances  gamboll'd  on  the  green, 
While  tuneful  sprites  a  merry  concert  made, 
And  airy  music  warbled  through  the  shade. 

Hither  the  noble  Knight  would  oft  repair 
(His  scene  of  pleasure,  and  peculiar  care) 
For  this  he  held  it  dear,  and  always  bore 
The  silver  key  that  lock'd  the  garden  door. 
To  this  sweet  place  in  summer's  sultry  heat, 
He  used  from  noise  and  business  to  retreat: 


„ 


JANUARY   AND    MAY. 


And  here  in  dalliance  spend  the  live-long  day, 
Solus  cum  sola,  with  his  sprightly  May. 
For  whate'er  work  was  undischarged  a-bed, 
The  duteous  Knight  in  this  fair  garden  sped. 

But  ah  !  what  mortal  lives  of  bliss  secure, 
How  short  a  space  our  worldly  joys  endure! 
O  Fortune,  fair,  like  all  thy  treacherous  kind, 
But  faithless  still,  and  wavering  as  the  wind ! 
O  painted  monster,  form'd  mankind  to  cheat, 
With  pleasing  poison,  and  with  soft  deceit! 
This  rich,  this  amorous,  venerable  knight, 
Amidst  his  ease,  his  solace,  and  delight, 
Struck  blind  by  thee,  resigns  his  days  to  grief, 
And  calls  on  death,  the  wretch's  last  relief. 

The  rage  of  jealousy  then  seized  his  mind, 
For  much  he  fear'd  the  faith  of  woman-kind. 
His  wife  not  suffer'd  from  his  side  to  stay, 
Was  captive  kept,  he  watch'd  her  night  and  day, 
Abridged  her  pleasures,  and  confined  her  sway. 
Full  oft  in  tears  did  hapless  May  complain, 
And  sigh'd  full  oft ;  but  sigh'd  and  wept  in  vain ; 
She  look'd  on  Damian  with  a  lover's  eye ; 
For  oh,  'twas  fix'd;  she  must  possess  or  die! 
Nor  less  impatience  vex'd  her  amorous  squire, 
Wild  with  delay,  and  burning  with  desire. 
Watch'd  as  she  was,  yet  could  he  not  refrain 
By  secret  writing  to  disclose  his  pain; 
The  dame  by  signs  reveal'd  her  kind  intent, 
Till  both  were  conscious  what  each  other  meant. 

Ah,  gentle  Knight,  what  would  thy  eyes  avail, 
Tho'  they  could  see  as  far  as  ships  can  sail  ? 
'Tis  better,  sure,  when  blind,  deceived  to  be, 
Than  be  deluded  when  a  man  can  see ! 

Argus  himself,  so  cautious  and  so  wise, 
Was  over- watch'd,  for  all  his  hundred  eyes : 
So  many  an  honest  husband  may,  'tis  known, 
Who,  wisely,  never  thinks  the  case  his  own. 

The  dame  at  last,  by  diligence  and  care, 
Procured  the  key  her  Knight  was  wont  to  bear; 
She  took  the  wards  in  wax  before  the  fire, 
And  gave  the  impression  to  the  trusty  squire. 
By  means  of  this,  some  wonder  shall  appear, 
Which,  in  due  place  and  season,  you  may  hear. 


JANUARY  AND    MAY.  129 

Well  sung  sweet  Ovid,  in  the  days  of  yore, 
What  slight  is  that,  which  love  will  not  explore  ? 
And  Pyramus  and  Thisbe  plainly  show 
The  feats  true  lovers,  when  they  list,  can  do : 
Though  watch'd  and  captive,  yet  in  spite  of  all, 
They  found  the  art  of  kissing  through  a  wall. 

But  now  no  longer  from  our  tale  to  stray  ; 
It  happ'd  that  once  upon  a  summer's  day, 
Our  reverend  Knight  was  urged  to  amorous  play: 
He  raised  his  spouse  ere  matin-bell  was  rung, 
And  thus  his  morning  canticle  he  sung. 

Awake,  my  love,  disclose  thy  radiant  eyes, 
Arise,  my  wife,  my  beauteous  lady,  rise ! 
Hear  how  the  doves  with  pensive  notes  complain, 
And  in  soft  murmurs  tell  the  trees  their  pain  : 
The  winter's  past ;  the  clouds  and  tempests  fly ; 
The  sun  adorns  the  fields,  and  brightens  all  the  sky 
Fair  without  spot,  whose  every  charming  part 
My  bosom  wounds,  and  captivates  my  heart ; 
Come,  and  in  mutual  pleasures  let's  engage, 
Joy  of  my  life,  and  comfort  of  my  age. 

This  heard,  to  Damian  straight  a  sign  she  made, 
To  haste  before ;  the  gentle  squire  obey'd : 
Secret  and  undescried  he  took  his  way, 
And  ambush 'd  close  behind  an  arbour  lay. 

It  was  not  long  ere  January  came, 
And  hand  in  hand  with  him  his  lovely  dame ; 
Blind  as  he  was,  not  doubting  all  was  sure, 
He  turn'd  the  key,  and  made  the  gate  secure. 

Here  let  us  walk,  he  said,  observed  by  none, 
Conscious  of  pleasures  to  the  world  unknown : 
So  may  my  soul  have  joy,  as  thou  my  wife 
Art  far  the  dearest  solace  of  my  life ; 
And  rather  would  I  choose,  by  Heaven  above, 
To  die  this  instant,  than  to  lose  thy  love. 
Reflect  what  truth  was  in  my  passion  shown, 
When,  unendow'd,  I  took  thee  for  my  own, 
And  sought  no  treasure  but  thy  heart  alone. 
Old  as  I  am,  and  now  deprived  of  sight, 
Whilst  thou  art  faithful  to  thy  own  true  Knight, 
Nor  age,  nor  blindness,  robs  me  of  delight. 
Each  other  loss  with  patience  I  can  bear, 
The  loss  of  thee  is  what  I  only  fear. 

13 


130  JANUARY  AND  MAY. 

Consider  then,  iny  lady  and  my  wife, 
The  solid  comforts  of  a  virtuous  life. 
As  first,  the  love  of  Christ  himself  you  gain ; 
Next,  your  own  honour  undefined  maintain  ; 
And  lastly,  that  which  sure  your  mind  must  move, 
My  whole  estate  shall  gratify  your  love : 

Make  your  own  term's,  and  ere  to-morrow's  sun 
Displays  his  light,  by  Heaven  it  shall  be  done. 
I  seal  the  contract  with  a  holy  kiss, 
And  will  perform,  by  this — my  dear,  and  this — 
Have  comfort,  spouse,  nor  think  thy  lord  unkind ; 
Tis  love,  not  jealousy,  that  fires  my  mind. 
For  when  thy  charms  my  sober  thoughts  engage, 
And  join'd  to  them  my  own  unequal  age, 
From  thy  dear  side  I  have  no  power  to  part, 
Such  secret  transports  warm  my  melting  heart. 
For  who  that  once  possess'd  those  heavenly  charms, 
Could  live  one  moment  absent  from  thy  arms  1 

He  ceased,  and  May  with  modest  grace  replied ; 
(Weak  was  her  voice,  as  while  she  spoke  she  cried ;) 
Heaven  knows  (with  that  a  tender  sigh  she  drew) 
I  have  a  soul  to  save  as  well  as  you ; 
And,  what  no  less  you  to  my  charge  commend, 
My  dearest  honour,  will  to  death  defend. 
To  you  in  holy  Church  I  gave  my  hand, 
And  join'd  my  heart  in  wedlock's  sacred  band : 
Yet,  after  this,  if  you  distrust  my  care, 
Then  hear,  my  lord,  and  witness  what  I  swear : 

First  may  the  yawning  earth  her  bosom  rend, 
And  let  me  hence  to  hell  alive  descend ; 
Or  die  the  death  I  dread  no  less  than  hell, 
Sewed  in  a  sack,  and  plunged  into  a  well : 
Ere  I  my  fame  by  one  lewd  act  disgrace, 
Or  once  renounce  the  honour  of  my  race. 
For  know,  Sir  Knight,  of  gentle  blood  I  came, 
I  loathe  a  whore,  and  startle  at  the  name. 
But  jealous  men  on  their  own  crimes  reflect, 
And  learn  from  thence  their  ladies  to  suspect: 
Else  why  these  needless  cautions,  Sir,  to  me  1 
These  doubts  and  fears  of  female  constancy! 
This  chime  still  rings  in  every  lady's  ear, 
The  only  strain  a  wife  must  hope  to  hear. 


Where  Damian  kneeling,  worshipp'd  as  she  past: 


JANUARY  AND  MAY.  131 

She  saw  him  watch  the  motions  of  her  eye, 
And  singled  out  a  pear-tree  planted  nigh: 
'Twas  charged  with  fruit  which  made  a  goodly  show, 
And  hung  with  dangling  pears  was  every  bough. 
Thither  the  obsequious  squire  address'd  his  pace, 
And  climbing,  La  the  summit  took  his  place ; 
The  Knight  and  Lady  walk'd  beneath  in  view, 
Where  let  us  leave  them,  and  our  tale  pursue. 

Twas  now  the  season  when  the  glorious  sun 
His  heavenly  progress  through  the  Twins  had  run ; 
And  Jove,  exalted,  his  mild  influence  yields, 
To  glad  the  glebe,  and  paint  the  flowery  fields: 
Clear  was  the  day,  and  Phoebus  rising  bright, 
Had  streak'd  the  azure  firmament  with  light ; 
He  pierced  the  glittering  clouds  with  golden  streams, 
And  warmed  the  womb  of  earth  with  genial  beams. 

It  so  befel,  in  that  fair  morning  tide, 
The  Fairies  sported  on  the  garden  side, 
And  in  the  midst  their  monarch  and  his  bride. 
So  ieatly  tripp'd  the  light-foot  ladies  round, 
The  knights  so  nimbly  o'er  the  green-sward  bound, 
That  scarce  they  bent  theflowers  ortouch'dthe  ground. 
The  dances  ended,  all  the  fairy  train 
For  pinks  and  daisies  search'd  the  flowery  plain ; 
While  on  the  bank  reclined  of  rising  green, 
Thus,  with  a  frown,  the  king  bespoke  his  queen. 

Tis  too  apparent,  argue  what  you  can, 
The  treachery  you  women  use  to  man: 
A  thousand  authors  have  this  truth  made  out, 
And  sad  experience  leaves  no  room  for  doubt. 

Heaven  rest  thy  spirit,  noble  Solomon, 
A  wiser  monarch  never  saw  the  sun : 
All  wealth,  all  honours,  the  supreme  degree 
Of  earthly  bliss,  was  well  bestow'd  on  thee  ! 
For  sagely  hast  thou  said :  Of  all  mankind, 
One  only  just  and  righteous,  hope  to  find: 
But  should'st  thou  search  the  spacious  world  around, 
Yet  one  good  woman  is  not  to  be  found. 

Thus  says  the  king  who  knew  your  wickedness; 
The  son  of  Sirach  testifies  no  less. 
So  may  some  wildfire  on  your  bodies  fall, 
Or  some  devouring  flame  consume  you  all; 
As  well  you  view  the  lecher  in  the  tree, 
And  well  this  honourable  Knight  you  see ; 


132  JANUARY    AND    MAY. 

But  since  he's  blind  and  old  (a  helpless  case), 
His  squire  shall  cuckold  him^before  your  face. 

Now  by  my  own  dread  majesty  I  swear, 
And  by  this  awful  sceptre  which  I  bear, 
No  impious  wretch  shall  'scape  unpunish'd  long, 
That  in  my  presence  offers  such  a  wrong. 
I  will  this  instant  undeceive  the  Knight, 
And,  in  the  very  act,  restore  his  sight : 
And  set  the  strumpet  here  in  open  view 
A  warning  to  the  ladies,  and  to  you, 
And  all  the  faithless  sex,  for  ever  to  be  true. 

And  will  you  so,  replied  the  Queen,  indeed ! 
Now,  by  my  mother's  soul  it  is  decreed, 
She  shall  not  want  an  answer  at  her  need. 
For  her,  and  for  her  daughters,  I'll  engage, 
And  all  the  sex  in  each  succeeding  age  ; 
Art  shall  be  theirs  to  varnish  an  offence, 
And  fortify  their  crimes  with  confidence. 
Nay,  were  they  taken  in  a  strict  embrace, 
Seen  with  both  eyes,  and  pinion'd  on  the  place ; 
All  they  shall  need  is  to  protest  and  swear, 
Breathe  a  soft  sigh,  and  drop  a  tender  tear ; 
Till  their  wise  husbands,  gull'd  by  arts  like  these 
Grow  gentle,  tractable,  and  tame  as  geese. 

What  tho'  this  sland'rous  Jew,  this  Solomon, 
Called  women  fools,  and  knew  full  many  a  one ; 
The  wiser  wits  of  later  times  declare, 
How  constant,  chaste,  and  virtuous  women  are  : 
Witness  the  martyrs,  who  resigned  their  breath, 
Serene  in  torments,  unconcerned  in  death  ; 
And  witness  next  what  Roman  authors  tell, 
How  Arria,  Portia,  and  Lucretia  fell. 

But  since  the  sacred  leaves  to  all  are  free, 
And  men  interpret  texts,  why  should  not  we  ? 
By  this  no  more  was  meant,  than  to  have  shown, 
That  sovereign  goodness  dwells  in  him  alone 
Who  only  is,  and  is  but  only  one. 
But  grant  the  worst ;  shall  women  then  be  weighed 
By  every  word  that  Solomon  has  said  ? 
What  tho'  this  King  (as  ancient  story  boasts) 
Built  a  fair  temple  to  the  Lord  of  hosts ; 
He  ceased  at  last  his  Maker  to  adore, 
And  did  as  much  for  idol  gods,  or  more. 
Beware  what  lavish  praises  you  confer 
On  a  rank  lecher  and  idolater  ; 


JANUARY   AND   MAY.  133 

Whose  reign  indulgent  God,  says  Holy  Writ, 
Did  but  for  David's  righteous  sake  permit ; 
David,  the  monarch  after  Heaven's  own  mind, 
Who  loved  our  sex,  and  honoured  all  our  kind. 

Well,  I'm  a  woman,  and  as  such  must  speak ; 
Silence  would  swell  me,  and  my  heart  would  break. 
Know  then,  I  scorn  your  dull  authorities, 
Your  idle  wits,  and  all  their  learned  lies. 
By  Heaven,  those  authors  are  our  sex's  foes, 
Whom,  in  our  right,  I  must  and  will  oppose. 

Nay  (quoth  the  King),  dear  Madam,  be  not  wroth : 
I  yield  it  up ;  but  since  I  gave  my  oath, 
That  this  much  injured  Knight  again  should  see, 
It  must  be  done — I  am  a  king,  said  he, 
And  one,  whose  faith  has  ever  sacred  been — 

And  so  has  mine  (she  said) — I  am  a  queen  : 
Her  answer  she  shall  have,  I  undertake ; 
And  thus  an  end  of  all  dispute  I  make. 
Try  when  you  list ;  and  you  shall  find,  my  lord, 
It  is  not  in  our  sex  to  break  our  word. 

We  leave  them  here  in  this  heroic  strain, 
And  to  the  Knight  our  story  turns  again ; 
Who  in  the  garden,  with  his  lovely  May, 
Sung  merrier  than  the  cuckoo  or  the  jay : 
This  was  his  song  ;  "  Oh  kind  and  constant  be, 
Constant  and  kind  I'll  ever  prove  to  thee." 

Thus  singing  as  he  went,  at  last  he  drew  % 
By  easy  steps,  to  where  the  pear-tree  grew : 
The  longing  dame  look'd  up,  and  spied  her  love, 
Full  fairly  perch 'd  among  the  boughs  above. 
She  stopp'd,  and  sighing — Oh  !  good  gods,  she  cried, 
What  pangs,  what  sudden  shoots  distend  my  side  ! 
O  for  that  tempting  fruit,  so  fresh,  so  green ; 
Help,  for  the  love  of  heaven's  immortal  queen ; 
Help,  dearest  lord,  and  save  at  once  the  life 
Of  thy  poor  infant,  and  thy  longing  wife  ! 

Sore  sigh'd  the  Knight  to  hear  his  Lady's  cry, 
But  could  not  climb,  and  had  no  servant  nigh : 
Old  as  he  was,  and  void  of  eyesight  too, 
What  could,  alas  !  a  helpless  husband  do  ? 
And  must  I  languish  then,  she  said,  and  die 
Yet  view  the  lovely  fruit  before  my  eye  ? 
At  least,  kind  Sir,  for  charity's  sweet  sake, 
Vouchsafe  the  trunk  between  your  arms  to  take : 
13* 


134  JANUARY   AND   MAY. 

Then  from  your  back  I  might  ascend  the  tree 
Do  you  but  stoop,  and  leave  the  rest  to  me. 

With  all  my  soul,  he  thus  replied  again, 
I'd  spend  my  dearest  blood  to  ease  thy  pain. 
With  that,  his  back  against  the  trunk  he  bent, 
She  seized  a  twig,  and  up  the  tree  she  went. 

Now  prove  your  patience,  gentle  ladies  all  J 
Nor  let  on  me  your  heavy  anger  fall : 
'Tis  truth  I  tell,  tho'  not  in  phrase  refined : 
Tho'  blunt  my  tale,  yet  honest  is  my  mind. 
What  feats  the  lady  in  the  tree  might  do, 
I  pass,  as  gambols  never  known  to  you ; 
But  sure  it  was  a  merrier  fit  she  swore, 
Than  in  her  life  she  ever  felt  before. 

In  that  nice  moment,  lo  !  the  wondering  Knight 
Look'd  out,  and  stood  restored  to  sudden  sight. 
Straight  on  the  tree  his  eager  eyes  he  bent, 
As  one  whose  thoughts  were  on  his  spouse  intent ; 
But  when  he  saw  his  bosom-wife  so  dress'd, 
His  rage  was  such  as  cannot  be  express'd  : 
Not  frantic  mothers  when  their  infants  die, 
With  louder  clamours  rend  the  vaulted  sky  : 
He  cried,  he  roar'd,  he  storm'd,  he  tore  his  hair  ; 
Death  !  hell !  and  furies  !  what  dost  thou  do  there  t 

What  ails  my  lord  1  the  trembling  dame  replied ; 
I  thought  your  patience  had  been  better  tried ; 
Is  this  your  love,  ungrateful  and  unkind, 
This  my  reward  for  having  cured  the  blind? 
Why  was  I  taught  to  make  my  husband  see, 
By  struggling  with  a  man  upon  a  tree  ? 
Did  I  for  this  the  power  of  magic  prove  ? 
Unhappy  wife,  whose  crime  was  too  much  love  ! 

If  this  be  struggling,  by  this  holy  light 
Tis  struggling  with  a  vengeance !  (quoth  the  Knight) 
So  Heaven  preserve  the  sight  it  has  restored, 
As  with  these  eyes  I  plainly  saw  thee  whored  ; 
Whored  by  my  slave — perfidious  wretch  !  may  hell 
As  surely  seize  thee,  as  I  saw  too  well. 

Guard  me,  good  angels  !  cried  the  gentle  May, 
Pray  Heaven  this  magic  work  the  proper  way ! 
Alas,  my  love  !  'tis  certain,  could  you  see, 
You  ne'er  had  used  these  killing  words  to  me; 
So  help  me,  fates,  as  'tis  no  perfect  sight, 
But  some  faint  glimmering  of  a  doubtful  light. 


JANUARY   ASD  MAY.  135 

What  I  have  said  (quoth  he)  I  must  maintain, 
For  by  the  immortal  pow'rs  it  seemed  too  plain  — 

By  all  those  powers  some  frenzy  seized  your  mind, 
(Keplied  the  dame)  are  these  the  thanks  I  find  I 
Wretch  that  I  am,  that  e'er  I  was  so  kind  ! 
She  said  ;  a  rising  sigh  express'd  her  woe, 
The  ready  tears  apace  began  to  flow, 
And  as  they  fell  she  wiped  from  either  eye 
The  drops  (for  women,  when  they  list,  can  cry). 

The  Knight  was  touch'd  ;  and  in  his  looks  appeared 
Signs  of  remorse,  while  thus  his  spouse  he  cheered  : 
Madam,  'tis  past,  and  my  short  anger  o'er  ! 
Come  down,  and  vex  your  tender  heart  no  more  ; 
Excuse  me,  dear,  if  aught  amiss  was  said, 
For,  on  my  soul,  amends  shall  soon  be  made  : 
Let  my  repentance  your  forgiveness  draw, 
By  Heav'n,  I  swore  but  what  I  thought  I  saw. 

Ah,  my  loved  lord  !  'twas  much  unkind  (she  cried) 
On  bare  suspicion  thus  to  treat  your  bride. 
But  till  your  sight's  establish'd  for  a  while, 
Imperfect  objects  may  your  sense  beguile. 
Thus  when  from  sleep  we  first  our  eyes  display, 
The  balls  are  wounded  with  the  piercing  ray, 


And  dusky  vapours  rise,  and  intercept  the  day  : 
So  just  recovering  from  the  shades  of  night, 
Your  swimming  eyes  are  drunk  with  sudden  light, 


Strange  phantoms  dance  around,  and  skim  before  your 
Then,  Sir,  be  cautious,  nor  too  rashly  deem  ;         [sight. 
Heaven  knows  how  seldom  things  are  what  they  seem  ! 
Consult  your  reason,  and  you  soon  shall  find 
'Twas  you  were  jealous,  not  your  wife  unkind  : 
Jove  ne'er  spoke  oracle  more  true  than  this, 
None  judge  so  wrong  as  those  who  think  amiss. 

With  that  she  leap'd  into  her  lord's  embrace 
With  well-dissembled  virtue  in  her  face. 
He  hugg'd  her  close,  and  kiss'd  her  o'er  and  o'er, 
Disturb'd  with  doubts  and  jealousies  no  more  : 
Both,  pleased  and  bless'd,  renew'd  their  mutual  vows, 
A  fruitful  wife  and  a  believing  spouse. 

Thus  ends  our  tale,  whose  moral  next  to  make; 
Let  all  wise  husbands  hence  example  take  ; 
And  pray,  to  crown  the  pleasure  of  their  lives, 
To  be  so  well  deluded  by  their  wives. 


136 
THE  WIFE  OF  BATH. 

HER  PROLOGUE. 
FROM  CHAUCER. 

BEHOLD  the  woes  of  matrimonial  life, 

And  hear  with  reverence  an  experienced  wife  S 

To  dear-bought  wisdom  give  the  credit  due, 

And  think,  for  once,  a  woman  tells  you  true. 

In  all  these  trials  I  have  borne  a  part, 

I  was  myself  the  scourge  that  caused  the  smart ; 

For,  since  fifteen,  in  triumph  have  I  led 

Five  captive  husbands  from  the  church  to  bed. 

Christ  saw  a  wedding  once,  the  Scripture  says, 
And  saw  but  one,  'tis  thought,  in  all  his  days ; 
"Whence  some  infer,  whose  conscience  is  too  nice, 
No  pious  Christian  ought  to  marry  twice. 

But  let  them  read,  and  solve  me,  if  they  can, 
The  words  address'd  to  the  Samaritan  : 
Five  times  in  lawful  wedlock  she  was  joined ; 
And  sure  the  certain  stint  was  ne'er  denned. 

"  Increase  and  multiply,"  was  Heaven's  command, 
And  that's  a  text  I  clearly  understand. 
This  too,  "  Let  men  their  sires  and  mothers  leave, 
And  to  their  dearer  wives  for  ever  cleave." 
More  wives  than  one  by  Solomon  were  tried, 
Or  else  the  wisest  of  mankind's  belied. 
I've  had  myself  full  many  a  merry  fit ; 
And  trust  in  Heaven  I  may  have  many  yet. 
For  when  my  transitory  spouse,  unkind, 
Shall  die,  and  leave  his  woeful  wife  behind, 
I'll  take  the  next  good  Christian  I  can  find. 

Paul,  knowing  one  could  never  serve  our  turn, 
Declared  'twas  better  far  to  wed  than  burn. 
There's  danger  in  assembling  fire  and  tow  ; 
I  grant  'em  that,  and  what  it  means  you  know. 
The  same  Apostle  too  has  elsewhere  own'd, 
No  precept  for  virginity  he  found : 
'Tis  but  a  counsel — and  we  women  still 
Take  which  we  like,  the  counsel,  or  our  will. 


T1IE   WIFE  OP   BATH.  137 

1  envy  not  their  bliss,  if  he  or  she 
Think  fit  to  live  in  perfect  chastity ; 
Pure  let  them  be,  and  free  from  taint  or  vice : 
I,  for  a  few  slight  spots,  am  not  so  nice. 
Heaven  calls  us  different  ways,  on  these  bestows 
One  proper  gift,  another  grants  to  those : 
Not  every  man's  obliged  to  sell  his  store, 
And  give  up  all  his  substance  to  the  poor ; 
Such  as  are  perfect,  may,  T  can't  deny  ; 
But,  by  your  leaves,  divines,  so  am  not  I. 

Full  many  a  saint,  since  first  the  world  began, 
Lived  an  unspotted  maid,  in  spite  of  man : 
Let  such  (a  God's  name)  with  fine  wheat  be  fed, 
And  let  us  honest  wives  eat  barley-bread. 
For  me,  I'll  keep  the  post  assigned  by  Heaven, 
And  use  the  copious  talent  it  has  given . 
Let  my  good  spouse  pay  tribute,  do  me  right, 
And  keep  an  equal  reckoning  every  night: 
His  proper  body  is  not  his,  but  mine ; 
For  so  said  Paul,  and  Paul's  a  sound  divine. 

Know  then,  of  those  five  husbands  I  have  had, 
Three  were  just  tolerable,  two  were  bad. 
The  three  were  old,  but  rich  and  fond  beside, 
And  toiled  most  piteously  to  please  their  bride : 
But  since  their  wealth  (the  best  they  had)  was  mine, 
The  rest,  without  much  loss,  I  could  resign. 
Sure  to  be  loved,  I  took  no  pains  to  please, 
Yet  had  more  pleasure  far  than  they  had  ease. 

Presents  flowed  in  apace  :  with  showers  of  gold, 
They  made  their  court,  like  Jupiter  of  old. 

If  I  but  smiled,  a  sudden  youth  they  found, 
And  a  new  palsy  seized  them  when  I  frown'd. 

Ye  sovereign  wives  !  give  ear,  and  understand, 
Thus  shall  ye  speak,  and  exercise  command. 
For  never  was  it  given  to  mortal  man, 
To  lie  so  boldly  as  we  women  can : 
Forswear  the  fact,  though  seen  with  both  his  eyes, 
And  call  your  maids  to  witness  how  he  lies. 
Hark,  old  Sir  Paul !  ('twas  thus  I  used  to  say) 
Whence  is  our  neighbour's  wife  so  rich  and  gay  ? 
Treated,  caress'd,  where'er  she's  pleased  to  roam— 
I  sit  in  tatters,  and  immured  at  home. 
Why  to  her  house  dost  thou  so  oft  repair  ? 
Art  thou  so  amorous  ?  and  is  she  so  fair  I 


138  THE  WIFE  OF  BATH. 

If  I  but  see  a  cousin  or  a  friend, 
Lord  !  how  you  swell,  and  rage  like  any  fiend ! 
But  you  reel  home,  a  drunken  beastly  bear, 
Then  preach  till  midnight  in  your  easy  chair ; 
Cry,  wives  are  false,  and  every  woman  evil, 
And  give  up  all  that's  female  to  the  devil. 

If  poor  (you  say)  she  drains  her  husband's  purse ; 
If  rich,  she  keeps  her  priest,  or  something  worse; 
If  highly  born,  intolerably  vain, 
Vapours  and  pride  by  turns  possess  her  brain, 
Now  gaily  mad,  now  sourly  splenetic, 
Freakish  when  well,  and  fretful  when  she's  sick. 
If  fair,  then  chaste  she  cannot  long  abide, 
By  pressing  youth  attack'd  on  every  side : 
If  foul,  her  wealth  the  lusty  lover  lures, 
Or  else  her  wit  some  fool-gallant  procures, 
Or  else  she  dances  with  becoming  grace, 
Or  shape  excuses  the  defects  of  face. 
There  swims  no  goose  so  grey,  but  soon  or  late, 
She  finds  some  honest  gander  for  her  mate. 

'Horses  (thou  sayst)  and  asses  men  may  try, 
And  ring  suspected  vessels  ere  they  buy : 
But  wives,  a  random  choice,  untried  they  take, 
They  dream  in  courtship,  but  in  wedlock  wake ; 
Then,  not  till  then,  the  veil's  removed  away, 
And  all  the  woman  glares  in  open  day. 

You  tell  me,  to  preserve  your  wife's  good  grace, 
Your  eyes  must  always  languish  on  my  face, 
Your  tongue  with  constant  flatteries  feed  my  ear, 
And  tag  each  sentence  with,  My  life  !  my  dear ! 
If  by  strange  chance,  a  modest  blush  be  raised, 
Be  sure  my  fine  complexion  must  be  praised. 
My  garments  always  must  be  new  and  gay, 
And  feasts  still  kept  upon  my  wedding-day. 
Then  must  my  nurse  be  pleased,  and  favourite  maid ; 
And  endless  treats,  and  endless  visits  paid, 
To  a  long  train  of  kindred,  friends,  allies  ; 
All  this  thou  say'st,  and  all  thou  say'st  are  lies. 

On  Jenkin,  too,  thou  cast  a  squinting  eye  : 
What !  can  your  'prentice  raise  your  jealousy  ? 
Fresh  are  his  ruddy  cheeks,  his  forehead  fair, 
And  like  the  burnish 'd  gold  his  curling  hair. 
But  clear  thy  wrinkled  brow,  and  quit  thy  sorrow, 
I'd  scorn  your  'prentice,  should  you  die  to-morrow. 


THE  WIFE  OB1  BATH.  139 

"Why  are  thy  chests  all  lock'd  ?  on  what  design  ? 
Are  not  thy  worldly  goods  and  treasure  mine  ? 
Sir,  I'm  no  fool ;  nor  shall  you,  by  St.  John, 
Have  goods  and  body  to  yourself  alone. 
One  you  shall  quit,  in  spite  of  both  your  eyes — 
I  heed  not,  I,  the  bolts,  the  locks,  the  spies. 
If  you  had  wit,  you'd  say,  "  Go  where  you  will, 
Dear  spouse,  I  credit  not  the  tales  they  tell : 
Take  all  the  freedoms  of  a  married  life  ; 
I  know  thee  for  a  virtuous  faithful  wife." 

Lord !  when  you  have  enough,  what  need  you  care 
How  merrily  soever  others  fare  ? 
Though  all  the  day  I  give  and  take  delight, 
Doubt  not,  sufficient  will  be  left  at  night. 
Tis  but  a  just  and  rational  desire, 
To  light  a  taper  at  a  neighbour's  fire. 

There's  danger  too,  you  think,  in  rich  array, 
And  none  can  long  be  modest  that  are  gay : 
The  cat,  if  you  but  singe  her  tabby  skin, 
The  chimney  keeps,  and  sits  content  within  ; 
But  once  grown  sleek,  will  from  her  corner  run, 
Sport  with  her  tail,  and  wanton  in  the  sun  ; 
She  licks  her  fair  round  face,  and  frisks  abroad, 
To  show  her  fur,  and  to  be  caterwau'd. 

Lo  thus,  my  friends,  I  wrought  to  iny  desires 
These  three  right  ancient  venerable  sires. 
I  told  'em  Thus  you  say,  and  thus  you  do, 
And  told  'em  false,  but  Jenkin  swore  'twas  true. 
I,  like  a  dog,  could  bite  as  well  as  whine, 
And  first  complain'd,  whene'er  the  guilt  was  mine. 
I  tax'd  them  oft  with  wenching  and  amours, 
When  their  weak  legs  scarce  dragg'd  'em  out  of  doors ; 
And  swore  the  rambles  that  I  took  by  night, 
Were  all  to  spy  what  damsels  they  bedight. 
That  colour  brought  me  many  hours  of  mirth ; 
For  all  this  wit  is  given  us  from  our  birth. 
Heaven  gave  to  woman  the  peculiar  grace 
To  spin,  to  weep,  and  cully  human  race. 
By  this  nice  conduct,  and  this  prudent  course, 
By  murmuring,  wheedling,  stratagem,  and  force, 
I  still  prevailed,  and  would  be  in  the  right, 
Or  curtain-lectures  made  a  restless  night. 
If  once  my  husband's  arm  was  o'er  my  side, 
What !  so  familiar  with  your  spouse  ?  I  cried : 


140  THE   WIFE   OF  BATH. 

I  levied  first  a  tax  upon  his  need ; 
Then  let  him — 'twas  a  nicety  indeed  ! 
Let  all  mankind  this  certain  maxim  hold, 
Marry  who  will,  our  sex  is  to  be  sold. 
"With  empty  hands  no  tarsels  you  can  lure, 
But  fulsome  love  for  gain  we  can  endure ; 
For  gold  we  love  the  impotent  and  old, 
And  heave,  and  pant,  and  kiss,  and  cling,  for  gold. 
Yet  with  embraces,  curses  oft  I  mixt, 
Then  kiss'd  again,  and  chid  and  railed  betwixt. 
Well,  I  may  make  my  will  in  peace,  and  die, 
For  not  one  word  in  man's  arrears  am  I. 
To  drop  a  dear  dispute  I  was  unable, 
Even  though  the  pope  himself  had  sat  at  table. 
But  when  my  point  was  gained,  then  thus  I  spoke, 
"  Billy,  my  dear,  how  sheepishly  you  look  ! 
Approach,  my  spouse,  and  let  me  kiss  thy  cheek ; 
Thou  should'st  be  always  thus,  resigned  and  meek ! 
Of  Job's  great  patience  since  so  oft  you  preach, 
Well  should  you  practise,  who  so  well  can  teach. 
"Tis  difficult  to  do,  I  must  allow, 
But  I,  my  dearest,  will  instruct  you  how. 
Great  is  the  blessing  of  a  prudent  wife, 
Who  puts  a  period  to  domestic  strife. 
One  of  us  two  must  rule,  and  one  obey ; 
And  since  in  man  right  reason  bears  the  sway, 
Let  that  frail  thing,  weak  woman,  have  her  way. 
The  wives  of  all  my  family  have  ruled 
Their  tender  husbands,  and  their  passions  cooled. 
Fie,  'tis  unmanly  thus  to  sigh  and  groan ; 
What !  would  you  have  me  to  yourself  alone  ? 
Why  take  me,  love  !  take  all  and  every  part ! 
Here's  your  revenge  !  you  love  it  at  your  heart. 
Would  I  vouchsafe  to  sell  what  nature  gave, 
You  little  think  what  custom  I  could  have. 
But  see !  I'm  all  your  own — nay  hold — for  shame ! 
What  means  my  dear — indeed — you  are  to  blame." 
Thus  with  my  first  three  lords  I  pass'd  my  life; 
A  very  woman,  and  a  very  wife. 
What  sums  from  these  old  spouses  I  could  raise, 
Procured  young  husbands  in  my  riper  days. 
Though  past  my  bloom,  not  yet  decayed  was  I, 
Wanton  and  wild,  and  chattered  like  a  pie. 


THE  WIFE   OF   BATH.  141 

In  country  dances  still  I  bore  the  bell, 

And  sung  as  sweet  as  evening  Philomel. 

To  clear  my  quail-pipe,  and  refresh  my  soul, 

Full  oft  I  drained  the  spicy  nut-brown  bowl ; 

Kich  luscious  wines,  that  youthful  blood  improve, 

And  warm  the  swelling  veins  to  feats  of  love : 

For  'tis  as  sure  as  cold  engenders  hail, 

A  liquorish  mouth  must  have  a  lecherous  tail ; 

"Wine  lets  no  lover  unrewarded  go, 

As  all  true  gamesters  by  experience  know. 

But  oh,  good  gods  !  whene'er  a  thought  I  cast 
On  all  the  joys  of  youth  and  beauty  past, 
To  find  in  pleasures  I  have  had  my  part, 
Still  warms  me  to  the  bottom  of  my  heart. 
This  wicked  world  was  once  my  dear  delight ; 
Now  all  my  conquests,  all  my  charms,  good  night 
The  flour  consumed,  the  best  that  now  I  can, 
Is  even  to  make  my  market  of  the  bran. 

My  fourth  dear  spouse  was  not  exceeding  true ; 
He  kept,  'twas  thought,  a  private  miss  or  two : 
But  all  that  score  I  paid — as  how?  you'll  say. 
Not  with  my  body,  in  a  filthy  way : 
But  I  so  dress'd,and  danced,  and  drank,  and  dined; 
And  view'd  a  friend,  with  eyes  so  very  kind, 
As  slung  his  heart,  and  made  his  marrow  fry, 
With  burning  rage,  and  frantic  jealousy. 
His  soul,  I  hope,  enjoys  eternal  glory, 
For  here  on  earth  I  was  his  purgatory. 
Oft,  when  his  shoe  the  most  severely  wrung, 
He  put  on  careless  airs,  and  sat  and  sung. 
How  sore  I  gall'd  him,  only  Heaven  could  know, 
And  he  that  felt,  and  I  that  caused  the  woe. 
He  died,  when  last  from  pilgrimage  I  came, 
With  other  gossips  from  Jerusalem ; 
And  now  lies  buried  underneath  a  rood, 
Fair  to  be  seen,  and  reared  of  honest  wood. 
A  tomb,  indeed,  with  fewer  sculptures  graced 
Than  that  Mausolus'  pious  widow  placed, 
Or  where  enshrined  the  great  Darius  lay; 
But  cost  on  graves  is  merely  thrown  away. 
The  pit  fill'd  up,  with  turf  we  covered  o'er; 
So  bless  the  good  man's  soul,  I  say  no  more. 

Now  for  my  fifth  loved  lord,  the  last  and  best; 
(Kind  Heaven  afford  him  everlasting  rest ;) 
14 


14:2  THE   WIFE   OF   BATH. 

Full  hearty  was  his  love,  and  I  can  shew 

The  tokens  on  my  ribs  in  black  and  blue ; 

Yet,  with  a  knack,  my  heart  he  could  have  won,' 

While  yet  the  smart  was  shooting  in  the  bone. 

How  quaint  an  appetite  in  woman  reigns  ! 

Free  gifts  we  scorn,  and  love  what  costs  us  pains: 

Let  men  avoid  us,  and  on  them  we  leap ; 

A  glutted  market  makes  provision  cheap. 

In  pure  good  will  I  took  this  jovial  spark, 
Of  Oxford  he,  a  most  egregious  clerk. 
He  boarded  with  a  widow  in  the  town, 
A  trusty  gossip,  one  dame  Alison : 
Full  well  the  secrets  of  my  soul  she  knew, 
Better  than  e'er  our  parish  priest  could  do. 
To  her  I  told  whatever  could  befall : 
Had  but  my  husband  piss'd  against  a  wall, 
Or  done  a  thing  that  might  have  cost  his  life, 
She — and  my  niece — and  one  more  worthy  wife, 
Had  known  it  all :  what  most  he  would  conceal, 
To  these  I  made  no  scruple  to  reveal. 
Oft  has  he  blush'd  from  ear  to  ear  for  shame, 
That  e'er  he  told  a  secret  to  his  dame. 

It  so  befell,  in  holy  time  of  Lent, 
That  oft  a  day  I  to  this  gossip  went ; 
(My  husband,  thank  my  stars,  was  out  of  town ;) 
From  house  to  house  we  rambled  up  and  down, 
This  clerk,  myself,  and  my  good  neighbour  Also, 
To  see,  be  seen,  to  tell,  and  gather  tales. 
Visits  to  every  church  we  daily  paid, 
And  march'd  in  every  holy  masquerade, 
The  stations  duly  and  the  vigils  kept; 
Not  much  we  fasted,  but  scarce  ever  slept. 
At  sermons  too  I  shone  in  scarlet  gay, 
The  wasting  moth  ne'er  spoil'd  my  best  array; 
The  cause  was  this,  I  wore  it  every  day. 
'Twas  when  fresh  May  her  early  blossoms  yields, 
This  clerk  and  I  were  walking  in  the  fields. 
We  grew  so  intimate,  I  can't  tell  how, 
I  pawn'd  my  honour,  and  engaged  my  vow, 
If  e'er  I  laid  my  husband  in  his  urn, 
That  he,  and  only  he,  should  serve  my  turn. 
We  straight  struck  hands,  the  bargain  was  agreed} 
I  still  have  shifts  against  a  time  of  need : 


THE  WIFE  OP  BATH.  143 

The  mouse  that  always  trusts  to  one  poor  hole, 
Can  never  be  a  mouse  of  any  soul. 

I  vow'd,  I  scarce  could  sleep  since  first  I  knew  him| 
And  durst  be  sworn  he  had  bewitch'd  me  to  him, 
If  e'er  I  slept,  I  dreamed  of  him  alone, 
And  dreams  foretell,  as  learned  men  have  shown: 
All  this  I  said ;  but  dreams,  Sirs,  I  had  none : 
I  followed  but  my  crafty  crony's  lore, 
Who  bid  me  tell  this  lie — and  tweotv  more. 

Thus  day  by  day  and  month  by  month  we  pass'd: 
It  pleased  the  Lord  to  take  my  spouse  at  last. 
I  tore  my  gown,  I  soiled  my  locks  with  dust, 
And  beat  my  breasts,  as  wretched  widows — must. 
Before  my  face  my  handkerchief  I  spread, 
To  hide  the  flood  of  tears  I  did— not  shed. 
The  good  man's  coffin  to  the  church  was  borne ; 
Around,  the  neighbours,  and  my  clerk,  to  mourn. 
But  as  he  march'd,  good  gods !  he  show'd  a  pair 
Of  legs  and  feet,  so  clean,  so  strong,  so  fair ! 
Of  twenty  winters'  age  he  seem'd  to  be ; 
I  (to  say  truth)  was  twenty  more  than  he ; 
But  vigorous  still,  a  lively  buxom  dame ; 
And  had  a  wondrous  gift  to  quench  a  flame. 
A  conjuror  once,  that  deeply  could  divine, 
Assured  me,  Mars  in  Taurus  was  my  sign. 
As  the  stars  order'd,  such  my  life  has  been: 
Alas,  alas,  that  ever  love  was  sin ! 
Fair  Venus  gave  me  fire,  and  sprightly  grace, 
And  Mars  assurance,  and  a  dauntless  face. 
By  virtue  of  this  powerful  constellation, 
I  followed  always  my  own  inclination. 

But  to  my  tale :  A  month  scarce  pass'd  away, 
With  dance  and  song  we  kept  the  nuptial  day. 
All  I  possess'd  I  gave  to  his  command, 
My  goods  and  chattels,  money,  house,  and  land : 
But  oft  repented,  and  repent  it  still ; 
He  proved  a  rebel  to  my  sovereign  will : 
Nay  once  by  Heaven  he  struck  me  on  the  face; 
Hear  but  the  fact,  and  judge  yourselves  the  case. 

Stubborn  as  any  lioness  was  I; 
And  knew  full  well  to  raise  my  voice  on  high ; 
As  true  a  rambler  as  I  was  before, 
And  would  be  so,  in  spite  of  all  he  swore. 


14*  THE   WIFE   OF   BATH. 

He,  against  this  right  sagely  would  advise, 
And  old  examples  set  before  my  eyes; 
Tell  how  the  Koman  matrons  led  their  life, 
Of  Gracchus'  mother,  and  Duilius'  wife; 
And  close  the  sermon,  as  beseemed  his  wit, 
With  some  grave  sentence  out  of  Holy  Writ. 
Oft  would  he  say,  who  builds  his  house  on  sands, 
Pricks  his  blind  horse  across  the  fallow  lands, 
Or  lets  his  wife  abroad  with  pilgrims  roam, 
Deserves  a  fool's-cap  and  long  ears  at  home. 
All  this  availed  not ;  for  whoe'er  he  be 
That  tells  my  faults,  I  hate  him  mortally: 
And  so  do  numbers  more,  I'll  boldly  say, 
Men,  women,  clergy,  regular  and  lay. 

My  spouse  (who  was,  you  know,  to  learning  bred) 
A  certain  treatise  oft  at  evening  read, 
Where  divers  authors  (whom  the  devil  confound 
For  all  their  lies)  were  in  one  volume  bound. 
Valerius,  whole ;  and  of  St.  Jerome,  part , 
Chrysippus  and  Tertullian,  Ovid's  Art, 
Solomon's  Proverbs,  Elo'isa's  loves ; 
And  many  more  than  sure  the  Church  approves. 
More  legends  were  there  here,  of  wicked  wives, 
Than  good,  in  all  the  Bible  and  saints'  lives. 
Who  drew  the  lion  vanquish 'd  ?     'Twas  a  man ! 
But  could  we  women  write  as  scholars  can, 
Men  should  stand  mark'd  with  far  more  wickedness 
Than  all  the  sons  of  Adam  could  redress. 
Love  seldom  haunts  the  breast  where  learning  lies, 
And  Venus  sets  ere  Mercury  can  rise. 
Those  play  the  scholars  who  can't  play  the  men, 
And  use  that  weapon  which  they  have,  their  pen; 
When  old,  and  past  the  relish  of  delight, 
Then  down  they  sit,  and  in  their  dotage  write, 
That  not  one  woman  keeps  her  mariage-vow. 
(This  by  the  way,  but  to  my  purpose  now.) 

It  chanced  my  husband,  on  a  winter's  night, 
Bead  in  this  book,  aloud,  with  strange  delight, 
How  the  first  female  (as  the  Scriptures  show) 
Brought  her  own  spouse  and  all  his  race  to  woe. 
How  Samson  fell ;  and  he  whom  Dejauire 
Wrapp'd  in  the  envenom'd  shirt,  and  set  on  fir* 
How  cursed  Eryphile  her  lord  betray'd, 
And  the  dire  ambush  Clytemnestra  laid. 


THE  WIFE   OF  BATH.  145 

But  what  most  pleased  him  was  the  Cretan  dame, 
And  husband-bull — oh  monstrous !  fie  for  shame ! 

He  had  by  heart,  the  whole  detail  of  woe 
Xantippe  made  her  good  man  undergo ; 
How  oft  she  scolded  hi  a  day,  he  knew, 
How  manyjordens  on  the  sage  she  threw; 
Who  took  it  patiently,  and  wiped  his  head; 
u  Rain  follows  thunder :"  that  was  all  he  said. 

He  read,  how  Arius  to  his  friend  complain'd, 
A  fatal  tree  was  growing  in  his  land, 
On  which  three  wives  successively  had  twined 
A  sliding  noose,  and  wavered  in  the  wind. 
Where  grows  this  plant  (replied  the  friend),  oh  where  ? 
For  better  fruit  did  never  orchard  bear. 
Give  me  some  slip  of  this  most  blissful  tree, 
And  in  my  garden  planted  shall  it  be. 

Then  how  two  wives  their  lords'  destruction  prove, 
Through  hatred  one,  and  one  through  too  much  love ; 
That  for  her  husband  mix'd  a  poisonous  draught, 
And  this  for  lust  an  amorous  philtre  bought: 
The  nimble  juice  soon  seized  his  giddy  head, 
Frantic  at  night,  and  in  the  morning  dead. 

Howsome  with  swords  theirsleeping  lords  have  slain, 
And  some  have  hammer'd  nails  into  their  brain, 
And  some  have  drench'd  them  with  a  deadly  potion  ; 
All  this  he  read,  and  read  with  great  devotion. 

Long  time  I  heard,  and  swell'd,  and  blush'd,  and 
But  when  no  end  of  these  vile  tales  I  found,  [frown'd ; 
When  still  he  read,  and  laugh'd,  and  read  again, 
And  half  the  night  was  thus  consumed  in  vain ; 
Provoked  to  vengeance,  three  large  leaves  I  tore, 
And  with  one  buffet  fell'd  him  on  the  floor. 
With  that  my  husband  in  a  fury  rose, 
And  down  he  settled  me  with  hearty  blows. 
I  groan'd,  and  lay  extended  on  my  side  ; 
Oh  !  thou  hast  slain  me  for  my  wealth  (I  cried) ; 
Yet  I  forgive  thee — take  my  last  embrace — 
He  wept,  kind  soul !  and  stoop'd  to  kiss  my  face ; 
I  took  him  such  a  box  as  turn'd  him  blue, 
Then  sigh'd  and  cried,  Adieu,  my  dear,  adieu  1 

But  after  many  a  hearty  struggle  past, 
I  condescended  to  be  pleased  at  last. 
Soon  as  he  said,  My  mistress  and  my  wife, 
Do  what  you  list,  the  term  of  all  your  life: 
14* 


H6  TIIEBAIS  OF   STATIUS. 

I  took  to  heart  the  merits  of  the  cause, 

And  stood  content  to  rule  by  wholesome  laws; 

Received  the  reins  of  absolute  command, 

With  all  the  government  of  house  and  land, 

And  empire  o'er  his  tongue,  and  o'er  his  hand. 

As  for  the  volume  that  reviled  the  dames, 

'Twas  torn  to  fragments,  and  condemn'd  to  flames. 

Now  Heaven,  on  all  my  husbands  gone,  bestow 
Pleasures  above,  for  tortures  felt  below : 
That  rest  they  wish'd  for,  grant  them  in  the  grave, 
And  bless  those  souls  my  conduct  help'd  to  save  ! 


TIIE    FIRST    BOOK 

OF 

STATIUS'S    THEBAIS. 

TRANSLATED  IN  THE  YEAR  MDCCIII. 

ARGUMENT. 

(EDIPUS,  king  of  Thebes,  having  by  mistake  slain  his  father  Laius, 
and  married  his  mother  Jocasta,  put  out  his  own  eyes,  and  resigned  his 
realm  to  his  sons,  Eteocles  and  Polynices.  Being  neglected  by  them,  he 
makes  his  prayer  to  the  fury  Tisiphone,  to  sow  debate  betwixt  the 
brothers.  They  agree  at  last  to  reign  singly,  each  a  year  by  turns,  and 
the  first  lot  is  obtained  by  Eteocles.  Jupiter,  in  a  council  of  the  gods, 
declares  his  resolution  of  punishing  the  Tin-bans,  and  Argives  also,  by 
means  of  a  marriage  betwixt  Polynices  and  one  of  the  daughters  of 
Adrastus  king  of  Argos.  Juno  opposes,  but  to  no  effect ;  and  Mercury 
is  sent  on  a  message  to  the  Shades,  to  the  ghost  of  Laius,  who  is  to  ap- 
pear to  Eteocles,  and  provoke  him  to  break  the  agreement.  Polynices 
in  the  meantime  departs  from  Thebes  by  night,  is  overtaken  by  a  storm, 
and  arrives  at  Argos ;  where  he  meets  with  Tydeus,  who  had  fled  from 
Calydon,  having  killed  his  brother.  Adrastus  entertains  them,  having 
received  an  oracle  from  Apollo  that  his  daughters  should  be  married  to 
a  boar  and  a  lion,  which  he  understands  to  be  meant  of  these  strangers, 
by  whom  the  hides  of  those  beasts  were  worn,  and  who  arrived  at  the 
time  when  he  kept  an  annual  feast  in  honour  of  that  god.  The  rise  of 
this  solemnity  he  relates  to  his  guests,  the  loves  of  Phoebus  and  Psamathe. 
and  the  story  of  Chbrcebus.  He  inquires,  and  is  made  acquainted  with 
their  descent  and  quality :  The  sacrifice  is  renewed,  and  the  book  con- 
cludes with  a  hymn  to  Apollo. 

The  translator  hopes  he  need  not  apologise  for  his  choice  of  this 
piece,  which  was  made  almost  in  his  childhood.  But  finding  the  ver- 
sion better  than  he  expected,  he  gave  it  some  correction  a  few  yeari 
afterwards. 


TIIEBAIS   OF   STATIUS.  147 

FRATERNAL  rage,  the  guilty  Thebes'  alarms, 

The  alternate  reign  destroy'd  by  impious  arms, 

Demand  our  song ;  a  sacred  fury  fires 

My  ravish'd  breast,  and  all  the  muse  inspires. 

O  goddess,  say,  shall  I  deduce  my  rhymes 

From  the  dire  nation  in  its  early  times, 

Europa's  rape,  Agenor's  stern  decree, 

And  Cadmus  searching  round  the  spacious  sea  T 

How  with  the  serpent's  teeth  he  sow'd  the  soil, 

And  reap'd  an  iron  harvest  of  his  toil  ? 

Or  how  from  joining  stones  the  city  sprung, 

While  to  his  harp  divine  Amphion  sung? 

Or  shall  I  Juno's  hate  to  Thebes  resound, 

Whose  fatal  rage  the  unhappy  monarch  found  ? 

The  sire  against  the  son  his  arrows  drew, 

O'er  the  wide  fields  the  furious  mother  flew, 

And  while  her  arms  a  second  hope  contain, 

Sprung  from  the  rocks  and  plunged  into  the  main. 

But  waive  whate'er  to  Cadmus  may  belong, 
And  fix,  O  Muse !  the  barrier  of  thy  song 
At  CEdipus — from  his  disasters  trace 
race: 


Nor  yet  attempt  to  stretcfc  thy  bolder  wing, 

And  mighty  Caesar's  conquering  eagles  sing ; 

How  twice  he  tamed  proud  Ister's  rapid  flood,    [blood ; 

While  Dacian   mountains  stream'd  with   barbarous 

Twice  taught  the  Ehine  beneath  his  laws  to  roll, 

And  stretch'd  his  empire  to  the  frozen  pole, 

Or  long  before,  with  early  valour  strove, 

In  youthful  arms  to  assert  the  cause  of  Jove. 

And  thou,  great  heir  of  all  thy  father's  fame, 

Increase  of  glory  to  the  Latian  name, 

Oh!  bless  thy  Home  with  an  eternal  reign, 

Nor  let  desiring  worlds  entreat  in  vain. 

What  though  the  stars  contract  their  heavenly  space, 

And  crowd  their  shining  ranks  to  yield  thee  place ; 

Though  all  the  skies,  ambitious  of  thy  sway, 

Conspire  to  court  thee  irom  our  world  away ; 

Though  Phcebus  long  to  mix  his  rays  with  thine, 

And  in  thy  glories  more  serenely  shine ; 

Though  Jove  himself  no  less  content  would  be 

To  part  his  throne  and  share  his  heaven  with  thee ; 

Yet  stay,  great  Caesar !  and  vouchsafe  to  reign 

Orer  the  wide  earth,  and  o'er  the  watery  main; 


148  T1IEBAIS   OF   STATIUS. 

Resign  to  Jove  his  empire  of  the  skies, 
And  people  heaven  with  Eoman  deities. 

The  time  will  come,  when  a  diviner  flame 
Shall  warm  my  breast  to  sing  of  Caesar's  fame : 
Meanwhile  permit,  that  my  preluding  muse 
In  Theban  wars  an  humbler  theme  may  chuse: 
Of  furious  hate  surviving  death,  she  sings, 
A  fatal  throne  to  two  contending  kings, 
And  funeral  flames,  that,  parting  wide  in  air, 
Express  the  discords  of  the  souls  they  bear: 
Of  towns  dispeopled,  and  the  wandering  ghosts 
Of  kings  unburied  in  the  wasted  coasts  ; 
When  Dirce's  fountain  blush'd  with  Grecian  blood, 
And  Thetis,  near  Ismenos'  swelling  flood, 
"With  dread  beheld  the  rolling  surges  sweep, 
In  heaps,  his  slaughter'd  sons  into  the  deep. 

What  Hero,  Clio  !  wilt  thou  first  relate  ? 
The  rage  of  Tydeus,  or  the  Prophet's  fate  ? 
Or  how,  with  hills  of  slain  on  every  side, 
Hippomedon  repell'd  the  hostile  tide  ? 
Or  how  the  youth  with  every  grace  adorn'd, 
Untimely  fell,  to  be  for  ever  mourn'd  ? 
Then  to  fierce  Capandfcs  thy  verse  extend, 
And  sing  with  horror  his  prodigious  end. 

Now  wretched  CEdipus,  deprived  of  sight, 
Led  a  long  death  in  everlasting  night ; 
But  while  he  dwells  where  not  a  cheerful  ray 
Can  pierce  the  darkness,  and  abhors  the  day : 
The  clear  reflecting  mind  presents  his  sin 
In  frightful  views,  and  makes  it  day  within ; 
Returning  thoughts  in  endless  circles  roll, 
And  thousand  furies  haunt  his  guilty  soul. 
The  wretch  then  lifted  to  the  unpityiug  skies 
Those  empty  orbs  from  whence  he  tore  his  eyes, 
Whose  wounds,  yet  fresh,  with  bloody  hands  he  strook, 
While  from  his  breast  these  dreadful  accents  broke. 

Ye  gods  !  that  o'er  the  gloomy  regions  reign, 
Where  guilty  spirits  feel  eternal  pain  ; 
Thou,  sable  Styx  !  whose  livid  streams  are  roll'd 
Through  dreary  coasts,  which  I  tho'  blind  behold  : 
Tisiphone,  that  oft  hast  heard  my  prayer, 
Assist,  if  CEdipus  deserve  thy  care  ! 
If  you  received  me  from  Jocasta's  womb, 
And  nursed  the  hope  of  mischiefs  yet  to  come : 


THEBAIS  OP  STATIUS.  149 

If,  leaving  Polybus,  I  took  my  way, 

To  Cyrrha's  temple  on  that  fatal  day, 

When  by  the  son  the  trembling  father  died, 

Where  the  three  roads  the  Phocian  fields  divide : 

If  I  the  Sphynx's  riddles  durst  explain, 

Taught  by  thyself  to  win  the  promised  reign : 

If  wretched  I,  by  baleful  furies  led, 

With  monstrous  mixture  stain'd  my  mother's  bed, 

For  hell  and  thee  begot  an  impious  brood, 

And  with  full  lust  those  horrid  joys  renew'd  ; 

Then,  self-condemn'd  to  shades  of  endless  night, 

Forced  from  these  orbs  the  bleeding  balls  of  sight ; 

Oh  hear !  and  aid  the  vengeance  I  require, 

If  worthy  thee,  and  what  thou  might 'st  inspire. 

My  sons  their  old,  unhappy  sire  despise, 

Spoil'd  of  his  kingdom,  and  deprived  of  eyes ; 

Guideless  I  wander,  unregarded  mourn, 

While  these  exalt  their  sceptres  o'er  my  urn  ; 

These  sons,  ye  gods  !  who  with  flagitious  pride 

Insult  my  darkness,  and  my  groans  deride. 

Art  thou  a  father,  unregarding  Jove  ! 

And  sleeps  thy  thunder  in  the  realms  above  1 

Thou  fury,  then,  some  lasting  curse  entail, 

Which  o'er  their  children's  children  shall  prevail : 

Place  on  their  heads  that  crown  distain'd  with  gore, 

Which  these  dire  hands  from  my  slain  father  tore ; 

Go  !  and  a  parent's  heavy  curses  bear ; 

Break  all  the  bonds  of  nature,  and  prepare 

Their  kindred  souls  to  mutual  hate  and  war. 

Give  them  to  dare,  what  I  might  wish  to  see, 

Blind  as  I  am,  some  glorious  villany  ! 

Soon  shalt  thou  find,  if  thou  but  arm  their  hands, 

Their  ready  guilt  preventing  thy  commands : 

Could'st  thou  some  great,  proportion 'd  mischief  frame, 

They'd  prove  the  lather  from  whose  loins  they  came. 

The  fury  heard,  while  on  Cocytus'  brink, 
Her  snakes  untied,  sulphureous  waters  drink ; 
But  at  the  summons  roll'd  her  eyes  around, 
And  snatch'd  the  starting  serpents  from  the  ground. 
Not  half  so  swiftly  shoots  along  the  air 
The  gliding  lightning,  or  descending  star. 
Through  crowds  of  airy  shades  she  wing'd  her  flight, 
And  dark  dominions  of  the  silent  night ; 


150  THEBAIS   OF  STATIUS. 

Swift  as  she  pass'd  the  flitting  ghosts  withdrew, 
And  the  pale  spectres  trembled  at  her  view : 
To  the  iron  gates  of  Tsenarus  she  flies, 
There  spreads  her  dusky  pinions  to  the  skies. 
The  day  beheld,  and  sickening  at  the  sight, 
Veil'd  her  fair  glories  in  the  shades  of  night. 
Affrighted  Atlas,  on  the  distant  shore, 
Trembled,  and  shook  the  heavens  and  gods  he  bore. 
Now  from  beneath  Malea's  airy  height 
Aloft  she  sprung,  and  steer'd  to  Thebes  her  flight ; 
With  eager  speed  the  well-known  journey  took, 
Nor  here  regrets  the  hell  she  late  forsook. 
A  hundred  snakes  her  gloomy  visage  shade, 
A  hundred  serpents  guard  her  horrid  head, 
In  her  sunk  eyeballs  dreadful  meteors  glow  : 
Such  rays  from  Phoebe's  bloody  circle  flow,         [high 
When,  labouring  with  strong  charms,  she  shoots  from 
A  fiery  gleam,  and  reddens  all  the  sky.  [came 

Blood  stain'd  her  cheeks,  and  from  her  mouth  there 
Blue  steaming  poisons,  and  a  length  of  flame ; 
From  every  blast  of  her  contagious  breath 
Famine  and  drought  proceed,  and  plagues,  and  death. 
A  robe  obscene  was  o'er  her  shoulders  thrown, 
A  dress  by  fates  and  furies  worn  alone. 
She  toss'd  her  meagre  arms  ;  her  better  hand 
In  waving  circles  whirl'd  a  funeral  brand  : 
A  serpent  from  her  left  was  seen  to  rear 
His  flaming  crest,  and  lash  the  yielding  air. 
But  when  the  fury  took  her  stand  on  high, 

A  hiss  from  all  the  snaky  tire  went  round  : 
The  dreadful  signal  all  the  rocks  rebound, 
And  through  the  Achaian  cities  send  the  sound. 
(Eta,  with  high  Parnassus,  heard  the  voice ; 
Eurotas'  banks  remurmur'd  to  the  noise  ; 
Again  Leucothoe  shook  at  these  alarms, 
And  press'd  Palsemon  closer  in  her  arms. 
Headlong  from  thence  the  glowing  fury  springs, 
And  o'er  the  Theban  palace  spreads  her  wings, 
Once  more  invades  the  guilty  dome,  and  shrouds 
Its  bright  pavilions  in  a  veil  of  clouds. 
Straight  with  the  rage  of  all  their  race  possess' d, 
Stung  to  the  soul,  the  brothers  start  from  rest, 
And  all  their  furies  wake  withii*  their  breast. 


THEBAIS  OF   STATIUS.  151 

Their  tortured  minds  repining  envy  tears, 
And  hate,  engender'd  by  suspicious  feurs  ; 
And  sacred  thirst  of  sway,  and  all  the  ties 
Of  nature  broke,  and  royal  perjuries : 
And  impotent  desire  to  reign  alone, 
That  scorns  the  dull  reversion  of  a  throne : 
Each  would  the  sweets  of  sovereign  rule  devour, 
While  discord  waits  upon  divided  power. 

As  stubborn  steers  by  brawny  ploughmen  broke, 
And  join'd  reluctant  to  the  galling  yoke, 
Alike  disdain  with  servile  necks  to  bear 
The  unwonted  weight,  or  drag  the  crooked  share, 
But  rend  the  reins,  and  bound  a  different  way, 
And  all  the  furrows  in  confusion  lay ; 
Such  was  the  discord  of  the  royal  pair, 
Whom  fury  drove  precipitate  to  war. 
In  vain  the  chiefs  contrived  a  specious  way 
To  govern  Thebes  by  their  alternate  sway : 
Unjust  decree  !  while  this  enjoys  the  state, 
That  mourns  in  exile  his  unequal  fate, 
And  the  short  monarch  of  a  hasty  year 
Foresees  with  anguish  his  returning  heir. 
Thus  did  the  league  their  impious  arms  restrain, 
But  scarce  subsisted  to  the  second  reign. 

Yet  then,  no  proud  aspiring  piles  were  raised, 
No  fretted  roofs  with  polish'd  metals  blazed  ; 
No  labour'd  columns  in  long  order  placed, 
No  Grecian  stone  the  pompous  arches  graced ; 
No  nightly  bands  in  glittering  armour  wait 
Before  the  sleepless  tyrant's  guarded  gate  ; 
No  chargers  then  were  wrought  in  burnish'd  gold, 
Nor  silver  vases  took  the  forming  mould  ; 
Nor  gems  on  bowls  emboss'd  were  seen  to  shine, 
Blaze  on  the  brims. 'and  sparkle  in  the  wine — 
Say,  wretched  rivals  !  what  provokes  your  rage  ? 
Say,  to  what  end  your  impious  arms  engage  ? 
Not  all  bright  Phoebus  views  in  early  morn, 
Or  when  his  evening  beams  the  west  adorn, 
When  the  south  glows  with  his  meridian  ray, 
And  the  cold  north  receives  a  fainter  day  ; 
For  crimes  like  these,  not  all  those  realms  suffice, 
Were  all  those  realms  the  guilty  victor's  prize ! 

But  fortune  now  (the  lots  of  empire  thrown) 
Decrees  to  proud  Eteocles  the  crown : 


152  TIIE1UIS   OF   STATICS. 

What  joys,  oh  tyrant !  swell'd  thy  soul  that  day, 
When  all  were  slaves  thou  couldst  around  survey, 
Pleased  to  behold  unbounded  power  thy  own, 
And  singly  fill  a  fear'd  and  envied  throne  ! 

But  the  vile  vulgar,  ever  discontent, 
Their  growing  fears  in  secret  murmurs  vent ; 
Still  prone  to  change,  though  still  the  slaves  of  state, 
And  sure  the  monarch  whom  they  have,  to  hate  j 
New  lords  they  madly  make,  then  tamely  bear, 
And  softly  curse  the  tyrants  whom  they  fear. 
And  one  of  those  who  groan  beneath  the  sway 
Of  kings  imposed,  and  grudgingly  obey, 
(Whom  envy  to  the  great,  and  vulgar  spite 
With  scandal  arm'd,  the  ignoble  mind's  delight,) 
Exclaim'd — O  Thebes  !  for  thee  what  fates  remain, 
What  woes  attend  this  inauspicious  reign  ? 
Must  we,  alas  !  our  doubtful  necks  prepare, 
Each  haughty  master's  yoke  by  turns  to  bear, 
And  still  to  change  whom  changed  we  still  must  fear  ? 
These  now  control  a  wretched  people's  fate, 
These  can  divide,  and  these  reverse  the  state  : 
E'en  Fortune  rules  no  more  ! — O  servile  land, 
Where  exiled  tyrants  still  by  turns  command  ! 
Thou  sire  of  gods  and  men,  imperial  Jove  ! 
Is  this  the  eternal  doom  decreed  above  ? 
On  thy  own  offspring  hast  thou  fix'd  this  fate, 
From  the  first  birth  of  our  unhappy  state  ; 
When  banish'd  Cadmus,  wandering  o'er  the  main, 
For  lost  Europa  search'd  the  world  in  vain, 
And  fated  in  Boeotian  fields  to  found 
A  rising  empire  on  a  foreign  ground, 
First  raised  our  walls  on  that  ill-omen'd  plain, 
Where  earth-born  brothers  were  by  brothers  slain  ? 
What  lofty  looks  the  unrivall'd  monarch  bears ! 
How  all  the  tyrant  in  his  face  appears  ! 
What  sullen  fury  clouds  his  scornful  brow  ! 
Gods !  how  his  eyes  with  threatening  ardour  glow ! 
Can  this  imperious  lord  forget  to  reign, 
Quit  all  his  state,  descend,  and  serve  again  ? 
Yet  who,  before,  more  popularly  bow'd  ? 
Who  more  propitious  to  the  suppliant  crowd  ? 
Patient  of  right,  familiar  in  the  throne  ? 
What  wonder  then  ?  he  was  not  then  alone. 


TIIE15A.1S    Of    bTATiUS.  153 

O  •wretched  we,  a  vile,  submissive  train, 
Fortune's  tame  fools,  and  slaves  in  every  reign  ! 

As  when  two  winds  with  rival  force  contend, 
This  way  and  that,  the  wavering  sails  they  bend, 
While  freezing  Boreas  and  black  Eurus  blow, 
Now  here,  now  there,  the  reeling  vessel  throw : 
Thus  on  each  side,  alas !  our  tottering  state 
Feels  all  the  fury  of  resistless  fate, 
And  doubtful  still,  and  still  distracted  stands, 
While  that  prince  threatens,  and  while  this  commands. 

And  now  the  almighty  father  of  the  gods 
Convenes  a  council  in  the  blest  abodes: 
Far  in  the  bright  recesses  of  the  skies, 
High  o'er  the  rolling  heavens,  a  mansion  lies, 
Whence,  far  below,  the  gods  at  once  survey 
The  realms  of  rising  and  declining  day, 
And  all  the  extended  space  of  earth,  and  air,  and  sea. 
Full  in  the  midst,  and  on  a  starry  throne, 
The  majesty  of  heaven  superior  shone ; 
Serene  he  look'd,  and  gave  an  awful  nod, 
And  all  the  trembling  spheres  confess'd  the  god. 
At  Jove's  assent  the  deities  around 
In  solemn  state  the  consistory  crown'd. 
Next  a  long  order  of  inferior  powers 
Ascend  from  hills,  and  plains,  and  shady  bowers; 
Those  from  whose  urns  the  rolling  rivers  flow  ; 
And  those  that  give  the  wandering  winds  to  blow : 
Here  all  their  rage,  and  even  their  murmurs  cease, 
And  sacred  silence  reigns,  and  universal  peace. 
A  shining  synod  of  majestic  gods 
Gilds  with  new  lustre  the  divine  abodes ; 
Heaven  seems  improved  with  a  superior  ray, 
And  the  bright  arch  reflects  a  double  day. 
The  monarch  then  his  solemn  silence  broke, 
The  still  creation  listen'd  while  he  spoke, 
Each  sacred  accent  bears  eternal  weight, 
And  each  irrevocable  word  is  fate. 

How  long  shall  man  the  wrath  of  heaven  defy, 
And  force  unwilling  vengeance  from  the  sky  ! 
O  race  confederate  into  crimes,  that  prove 
Triumphant  o'er  the  eluded  rage  of  Jove ! 
This  wearied  arm  can  scarce  the  bolt  sustain, 
And  unregarded  thunder  rolls  in  vain : 


15 


154  TIIEBAIS    OF   STATIUS. 

The  o'erlabour'd  Cyclops  from  his  task  retires; 

The  .yEolian  forge  exhausted  of  its  fires. 

For  this  I  suffer'd  Phoebus'  steeds  to  stray, 

And  the  mad  ruler  to  misguide  the  day ; 

When  the  wide  earth  to  heaps  of  ashes  turn'd, 

And  heaven  itself  the  wand'ring  chariot  burn'd. 

For  this,  my  brother  of  the  watery  reign 

Released  the  impetuous  sluices  of  the  main : 

But  flames  consumed,  and  billows  raged  in  vain. 

Two  races  now,  allied  to  Jove,  offend ; 

To  punish  these,  see  Jove  himself  descend. 

The  Theban  kings  their  line  from  Cadmus  trace, 

From  godlike  Perseus  those  of  Argive  race. 

Unhappy  Cadmus'  fate  who  does  not  know, 

And  the  long  series  of  succeeding  woe  ? 

How  oft  the  furies,  from  the  deepa  of  night, 

Arose,  and  mix'd  with  men  in  mortal  fight : 

The  exulting  mother,  stain'd  with  filial  blood ; 

The  savage  hunter  and  the  haunted  wood  ? 

The  direful  banquet  why  should  I  proclaim, 

And  crimes  that  grieve  the  trembling  gods  to  name  ? 

Ere  I  recount  the  sins  of  these  profane, 

The  sun  would  sink  into  the  western  main, 

And  rising  gild  the  radiant  east  again. 

Have  we  not  seen  (the  blood  of  Laius  shed) 

The  murdering  son  ascend  his  parent's  bed, 

Through  violated  nature  force  his  way, 

And  stain  the  sacred  womb  where  once  he  lay  ? 

Yet  now  in  darkness  and  despair  he  groans, 

And  for  the  crimes  of  guilty  fate  atones ; 

His  sons  with  scorn  their  eyeless  father  view, 

Insult  his  wounds,  and  make  him  bleed  anew. 

Thy  curse,  O  (Edipus  !  just  Heaven  alarms, 

And  sets  the  avenging  Thunderer  in  arms. 

I  from  the  root  thy  guilty  race  will  tear, 

And  give  the  nations  to  the  waste  of  war. 

Adrastus  soon,  with  gods  averse,  shall  join 

In  dire  alliance  with  the  Theban  line ; 

Hence  strife  shall  rise,  and  mortal  war  succeed ; 

The  guilty  realms  of  Tantalus  shall  bleed, 

Fix'd  is  their  doom ;  this  all-remembering  breast 

Yet  harbours  vengeance  for  the  tyrant's  feast. 

He  said ;  and  thus  the  queen  of  heaven  return'd. 
(With  sudden  grief  her  labouring  bosom  burn'd) : 


THEBAIS  OP  STATIUS.  155 

Must  I,  whose  cares  Phoroneus'  towers  defend, 

Must  I,  O  Jove !  in  bloody  wars  contend  ? 

Thou  know'st  those  regions  my  protection  claim, 

Glorious  in  arms,  in  riches,  and  in  fame : 

Though  there  the  fair  Egyptian  heifer  fed, 

And  there  deluded  Argus  slept,  and  bled ; 

Though  there  the  brazen  tower  was  storm'd  of  old, 

When  Jove  descended  in  almighty  gold: 

Yet  I  can  pardon  those  obscurer  rapes, 

Those  bashful  crimes  disguised  in  borrow'd  shapes ; 

But  Thebes,  where,  shining  hi  celestial  charms, 

Thou  earnest  triumphant  to  a  mortal's  arms, 

When  all  thy  glories  o'er  her  limbs  were  spread, 

And  blazing  lightnings  danced  around  her  bed ; 

Cursed  Thebes  the  vengeance  it  deserves,  may  prove — 

Ah  why  should  Argos  feel  the  rage  of  Jove  ? 

Yet  since  thou  wilt  thy  sister-queen  control, 

Since  still  the  lust  of  discord  fires  thy  soul, 

Go,  raze  my  Samos,  let  Mycene  fall, 

And  level  with  the  dust  the  Spartan  wall ; 

No  more  let  mortals  Juno's  power  invoke, 

Her  fanes  no  more  with  eastern  incense  smoke, 

Nor  victims  sink  beneath  the  sacred  stroke, 

But  to  your  Isis  all  my  rites  transfer, 

Let  altars  blaze  and  temples  smoke  for  her ; 

For  her,  through  Egypt's  fruitful  clime  renown'd, 

Let  weeping  Nilus  hear  the  timbrel  sound. 

But  if  thou  must  reform  the  stubborn  times, 

Avenging  on  the  sons  the  father's  crimes, 

And  from  the  long  records  of  distant  age 

Derive  incitements  to  renew  thy  rage ; 

Say,  from  what  period  then  has  Jove  design'd 

To  date  his  vengeance ;  to  what  bounds  confined 

Begin  from  thence,  where  first  Alpheus  hides 

His  wandering  stream,  and  through  the  briny  tides 

Unmix'd  to  his  Sicilian  river  glides. 

Thy  own  Arcadians  there  the  thunder  claim, 

Whose  impious  rites  disgrace  thy  mighty  name ; 

Who  raise  thy  temples  where  the  chariot  stood 

Of  fierce  (Enomaus,  defiled  with  blood  ; 

Where  once  his  steeds  their  savage  banquet  found, 

And  human  bones  yet  whiten  all  the  ground. 

Say,  can  those  honours  ple:ise ;  and  canst  thou  love 

Presumptuous  Crete,  tliat  boasts  the  tomb  of  Jove  ? 


156  THEBAIS   OF   STATIUS. 

And  shall  not  Tantalus's  kingdoms  snare 

Thy  wife  and  sister's  tutelary  care  ? 

Eeverse,  O  Jove,  thy  too  severe  decree, 

Nor  doom  to  war  a  race  derived  from  thee  ; 

On  impious  realms  and  barbarous  kings  impose 

Thy  plagues,  and  curse  them  with  such  sons,  as  those. 

Thus,  in  reproach  and  prayer,  the  queen  express'd 

The  rage  and  grief  contending  in  her  breast. 

Unmoved  remain'd  the  ruler  of  the  sky, 

And  from  his  throne  return'd  this  stern  reply: 

'Twas  thus  I  deem'd  thy  haughty  soul  would  bear 

The  dire,  though  just,  revenge  which  I  prepare 

Against  a  nation  thy  peculiar  care : 

No  less  Dione  might  for  Thebes  contend, 

Nor  Bacchus  less  his  native  town  defend, 

Yet  these  in  silence  see  the  fates  fulfil 

Their  work,  and  reverence  our  superior  will. 

For  by  the  black  infernal  Styx  I  swear, 

(That  dreadful  oath  which  binds  the  Thunderer,) 

'Tis  fix'd ;  the  irrevocable  doom  of  Jove ; 

No  force  can  bend  me,  no  persuasion  move. 

Haste  then,  Cyllenius,  through  the  liquid  air  ; 

Go,  mount  the  winds,  and  to  the  shades  repair ; 

Bid  hell's  black  monarch  my  commands  obey, 

And  give  up  Laius  to  the  realms  of  day, 

Whose  ghost  yet  shivering  on  Cocytus'  sand, 

Expects  its  passage  to  the  further  strand : 

Let  the  pale  sire  revisit  Thebes,  and  bear 

These  pleasing  orders  to  the  tyrant's  ear  ; 

That  from  his  exiled  brother,  swell'd  with  pride 

Of  foreign  forces,  and  his  Argive  bride. 

Almighty  Jove  commands  him  to  detain 

The  promised  empire,  and  alternate  reign : 

Be  this  the  cause  of  more  than  mortal  hate  : 

The  rest,  succeeding  times  shall  ripen  into  fate. 

The  god  obeys,  and  to  his  feet  applies 
Those  golden  wings  that  cut  the  yielding  skies. 
His  ample  hat  his  beamy  locks  o'erspread, 
And  veil'd  the  starry  glories  of  his  head. 
He  seized  the  wand  that  causes  sleep  to  fly, 
Or,  in  soft  slumbers,  seals  the  wakeful  eye ; 
That  drives  the  dead  to  dark  Tartarean  coasts, 
Or  back  to  life  compels  the  wandering  ghosts. 


THEBAIS   OF   STATIUS.  157 

Thus,  through  the  parting  clouds,  the  son  of  May 
Wings  on  the  whistling  winds  his  rapid  way ; 
Now  smoothly  steers  through  air  his  equal  flight, 
Now  springs  aloft,  and  towers  the  ethereal  height; 
Then  wheeling  down  the  steep  of  heaven  he  flies, 
And  draws  a  radiant  circle  o'er  the  skies. 

Meantime  the  banish'd  Polynices  roves 
(His  Thebes  abandon'd)  through  the  Aonian  groves, 
While  future  realms  his  wandering  thoughts  delight, 
His  daily  vision  and  his  dream  by  night ; 
Forbidden  Thebes  appears  before  his  eye, 
From  whence  he  sees  his  absent  brother  fly, 
With  transport  views  the  airy  rule  his  own, 
And  swells  on  an  imaginary  throne. 
Fain  would  he  cast  a  tedious  age  away, 
And  live  out  all  in  one  triumphant  day. 
He  chides  the  lazy  progress  of  the  sun, 
And  bids  the  year  with  swifter  motion  run; 
With  anxious  hopes  his  craving  mind  is  toss'd, 
And  all  his  joys  in  length  of  wishes  lost. 

The  hero  then  resolves  his  course  to  bend 
Where  ancient  Danaus'  fruitful  fields  extend, 
And  famed  Mycene's  lofty  towers  ascend, 
(Where  late  the  sun  did  Atreus'  crimes  detest, 
And  disappear'd  in  horror  of  the  feast.) 
And  now  by  chance,  by  fate,  or  furies  led, 
From  Bacchus'  consecrated  caves  he  fled, 
Where  the  shrill  cries  of  frantic  matrons  sound, 
And  Pantheus'  blood  enrich 'd  the  rising  ground. 
Then  sees  Cithaeron  towering  o'er  the  plain, 
And  thence  declining  gently  to  the  main. 
Next  to  the  bounds  of  Nisus'  realm  repairs, 
Where  treacherous  Scylla  cut  the  purple  hairs : 
The  hanging  cliffs  of  Scyron's  rocks  explores, 
And  hears  the  murmurs  of  the  different  shores : 
Passes  the  strait  that  parts  the  foaming  seas, 
And  stately  Corinth's  pleasing  site  surveys. 
'Twas  now  the  time  when  Phoebus  yields  to  night, 
And  rising  Cynthia  sheds  her  silver  light, 
Wide  o'er  the  world  in  solemn  pomp  she  drew 
Her  airy  chariot,  hung  with  pearly  dew ; 
All  birds  and  beasts  lie  hush'd ;  sleep  steals  away 
The  wild  desires  of  men,  and  toils  of  day, 

15* 


158  THEBAIS  OF   STATIUS. 

And  brings,  descending  through  the  silent  air, 

A  sweet  forgetfulness  of  human  care. 

Yet  no  red  clouds,  with  golden  borders  gay, 

Promise  the  skies  the  bright  return  of  day ; 

No  faint  reflections  of  the  distant  light 

Streak  with  long  gleams  the  scattering  shades  of  night : 

From  the  damp  earth  impervious  vapours  rise, 

Increase  the  darkness,  and  involve  the  skies. 

At  once  the  rushing  winds,  with  roaring  sound, 

Burst  from  the  ^Eolian  caves,  and  rend  the  ground, 

With  equal  rage  their  airy  quarrel  try, 

And  win  by  turns  the  kingdom  of  the  sky : 

But  with  a  thicker  night  black  Auster  shrouds 

The  heavens,  and  drives  on  heaps  the  rolling  clouds, 

From  whose  dark  womb  a  rattling  tempest  pours, 

Which  the  cold  north  congeals  to  haily  showers. 

From  pole  to  pole  the  thunder  roars  aloud, 

And  broken  lightnings  flash  from  every  cloud. 

Now  smokes  with  showers  the  misty  mountain-ground, 

And  floated  fields  lie  undistinguish'd  round. 

The  Inachian  streams  with  headlong  fury  run, 

And  Erasinus  rolls  a  deluge  on : 

The  foaming  Lerna  swells  above  its  bounds, 

And  spreads  its  ancient  poisons  o'er  the  grounds : 

Where  late  was  dust,  now  rapid  torrents  play, 

Kush  through  the  mounds,  and  bear  the  dams  away: 

Old  limbs  of  trees,  from  crackling  forests  torn, 

Are  whirl 'd  in  air,  and  on  the  winds  are  borne : 

The  storm  the  dark  Lycsean  groves  display'd, 

And  first  to  light  exposed  the  sacred  shade. 

The  intrepid  Theban  hears  the  bursting  sky, 

Sees  yawning  rocks  in  massy  fragments  fly, 

And  views  astonish 'd,  from  the  hills  afar, 

The  floods  descending,  and  the  watery  war, 

That,  driven  by  storms,  and  pouring  o'er  the  plain, 

Swept  herds,  and  hinds,  and  houses  to  the  main. 

Through  the  brown  horrors  of  the  night  he  fled, 

Nor  knows,  amazed,  what  dreadful  path  to  tread ; 

His  brother's  image  to  his  mind  appears,  [fears. 

Inflames  his  heart  with  rage,  and  wings  his  feet  with 

So  fares  a  sailor  on  the  stormy  main, 
When  clouds  conceal  Bootes'  golden  wain, 
When  not  a  star  its  friendly  lustre  keeps, 
Nor  trembling  Cynthia  glimmers  on  the  deeps; 


TUEBA1S  OF   STAT1US.  159 

He  dreads  the  rocks,  and  shoals,  and  seas,  and  skies, 
While  thunder  roars,  and  lightning  round  him  flies. 

Thus  strove  the  chief,  on  every  side  distress'd, 
Thus  still  his  courage  with  his  toils  increased ; 
With  his  broad  shield  opposed,  he  forced  his  way 
Through  thickest  woods,  and  roused  the  beasts  of  prey, 
Till  he  beheld,  where  from  Larissa's  height 
The  shelving  walls  reflect  a  glancing  light : 
Thither  with  haste  the  Theban  hero  flies  ; 
On  this  side  Lerna's  poisonous  water  lies, 
On  that  Prosymna's  grove  and  temple  rise : 
He  pass'd  the  gates  which  then  unguarded  lay, 
And  to  the  regal  palace  bent  his  way ; 
On  the  cold  marble,  spent  with  toil,  he  lies, 
And  waits  till  pleasing  slumbers  seal  his  eyes. 

Adrastus  here  his  happy  people  sways, 
Blest  with  calm  peace  in  his  declining  days, 
By  both  his  parents  of  descent  divine, 
Great  Jove  and  Phoebus  graced  his  noble  line : 
Heaven  had  not  crown'dliis  wishes  with  a  son, 
But  two  fair  daughters  heir'd  his  state  and  throne. 
To  him  Apollo  (wondrous  to  relate! 
But  who  can  pierce  into  the  depths  of  fate  ?) 
Had  sung — "  Expect  thy  sons  on  Argos'  shore, 
A  yellow  lion  and  a  bristly  boar." 
This  long  revolved  in  his  paternal  breast, 
Sate  heavy  on  his  heart,  and  broke  his  rest ; 
This,  great  Amphiaraus,  lay  hid  from  thee, 
Though  skill'd  in  fate,  and  dark  futurity. 
The  father's  care  and  prophet's  art  were  vain, 
For  thus  did  the  predicting  god  ordain. 

Lo,  hapless  Tydeus,  whose  ill-fated  hand 
Had  slum  his  brother,  leaves  his  native  land, 
And  seized  with  horror,  in  the  shades  of  night, 
Through  the  thick  deserts  headlong  urged  his  flight : 
Now  by  the  fury  of  the  tempest  driven, 
He  seeks  a  shelter  from  the  inclement  heaven, 
Till,  led  by  fate,  the  Theban 's  steps  he  treads, 
And  to  fair  Argos'  open  court  succeeds. 

When  thus  the  chiefs  from  different  lands  resort 
To  Adrastus'  realms,  and  hospitable  court ; 
The  king  surveys  his  guests  with  curious  eyes, 
And  views  their  arms  and  habit  with  surprise. 


160  TIfEBATS    OF    STATIUS. 

A  lion's  yellow  skin  the  Theban  wears, 
Horrid  his  mane,  and  rough  with  curling  hairs; 
Such  once  employ'd  Alcides'  youthful  toils, 
Ere  yet  adorn 'd  with  Nemea's  dreadful  spoils. 
A  boar's  stiff  hide,  of  Calydonian  breed, 
CEn ides'  manly  shoulders  overspread. 
Oblique  his  tusks,  erect  his  bristles  stood, 
Alive,  the  pride  and  terror  of  the  wood. 

Struck  with  the  sight,  and  fix'd  in  deep  amaze, 
The  King  the  accomplish'd  oracle  surveys, 
Reveres  Apollo's  vocal  caves,  and  owns 
The  guiding  godhead,  and  his  future  sons. 
O'er  all  his  bosom  secret  transports  reign, 
And  a  glad  horror  shoots  through  every  vein. 
To  heaven  he  lifts  his  hands,  erects  his  sight, 
And  thus  invokes  the  silent  queen  of  night. 

Goddess  of  shades,  beneath  whose  gloomy  reign 
Yon  spangled  arch  glows  with  the  starry  train : 
You  who  the  cares  of  heaven  and  earth  allay, 
Till  nature,  quicken'd  by  the  inspiring  ray, 
Wakes  to  new  vigour  with  the  rising  day ; 
Oh  thou,  who  freest  me  from  my  doubtful  state, 
Long  lost  and  wilder'd  in  the  maze  of  fate  ! 
Be  present  still,  oh  goddess  !  in  our  aid  ; 
Proceed,  and  'firm  those  omens  thou  hast  made. 
"We  to  thy  name  our  annual  rites  will  pay, 
And  on  thy  altars  sacrifices  lay ; 
The  sable  flock  shall  fall  beneath  the  stroke, 
And  fill  thy  temples  with  a  grateful  smoke. 
Hail,  faithful  Tripos  !  hail,  ye  dark  abodes 
Of  awful  Phoebus  :  I  confess  the  gods  ! 

Thus,  seized  with  sacred  fear,  the  monarch  pray'd  ; 
Then  to  his  inner  court  the  guests  convey'd  ; 
Where  yet  thin  fumes  from  dying  sparks  arise, 
And  dust  yet  white  upon  each  altar  lies, 
The  relics  of  a  former  sacrifice. 
The  king  once  more  the  solemn  rites  requires, 
And  bids  renew  the  feasts,  and  wake  the  fires. 
His  train  obey,  while  all  the  courts  around 
With  noisy  care  and  various  tumult  sound. 
Embroider'd  purple  clothes  the  golden  beds ; 
This  slave  the  floor,  and  that  the  table  spreads  ; 
A  third  dispels  the  darkness  of  the  night, 
And  fills  depending  lamps  with  beams  of  light. 


'      THEBAIS   OF   STATIUS.  161 

Here  loaves  in  canisters  are  piled  on  high, 
And  there  in  flames  the  slaughtered  victims  fry. 
Sublime  in  regal  state  Adrastus  shone, 
Stretch'd  on  rich  carpets  on  his  ivory  throne; 
A  lofty  couch  receives  each  princely  guest : 
Around,  at  awful  distance,  wait  the  rest. 

And  now  the  king,  his  royal  feast  to  grace, 
Acestis  calls,  the  guardian  of  his  race, 
Who  first  their  youth  in  arts  of  virtue  train'd, 
And  their  ripe  years  in  modest  grace  maintaiu'd. 
Then  softly  whispered  in  her  faithful  ear, 
And  bade  his  daughters  at  the  rites  appear. 
When  from  the  close  apartments  of  the  night, 
The  royal  nymphs  approach  divinely  bright ; 
Such  was  Diana's,  such  Minerva's  face  ; 
Nor  shine  their  beauties  with  superior  grace, 
But  that  in  these  a  milder  charm  endears, 
And  less  of  terror  in  their  looks  appears, 
As  on  the  heroes  first  they  cast  their  eyes, 
O'er  their  fair  cheeks  the  glowing  blushes  rise. 
Their  downcast  looks  a  decent  shame  confess'd, 
Then  on  their  father's  reverend  features  rest. 

The  banquet  done,  the  monarch  gives  the  sign 
To  fill  the  goblet  high  with  sparkling  wine, 
Which  Danaus  used  in  sacred  rites  of  old, 
With  sculpture  graced,  and  rough  with  rising  gold. 
Here  to  the  clouds  victorious  Perseus  flies, 
Medusa  seems  to  move  her  languid  eyes, 
And,  even  in  gold,  turns  paler  as  she  dies. 
There  from  the  chase  Jove's  towering  eagle  bears, 
On  golden  wings,  the  Phrygian  to  the  stars : 
Still  as  he  rises  in  the  ethereal  height, 
His  native  mountains  lessen  to  his  sight ; 
While  all  his  sad  companions  upward  gaze, 
Fix'd  on  the  glorious  scene  in  wild  amaze  ; 
And  the  swift  hounds,  affrighted  as  he  flies, 
Run  to  the  shade,  and  bark  against  the  skies. 

This  golden  bowl  with  generous  juice  was  crown'd, 
The  first  libations  sprinkled  on  the  ground, 
By  turns  on  each  celestial  power  they  call ; 
With  Phoebus'  name  resounds  the  vaulted  hall. 
The  courtly  train,  the  strangers,  and  the  rest, 
Crown'd  with  chaste  laurel,  and  with  garlands  dress'd 


162  T1IECAIS    OF   STATiUS. 

"While  rich  with  gums  the  fuming  altars  blaze, 
Salute  the  god  in  numerous  hymns  of  praise. 

Then  thus  the  king:  Perhaps,  my  noble  guests, 
These  honoured  altars,  and  these  annual  feasts 
To  bright  Apollo's  awful  name  design'd, 
Unknown,  with  wonder  may  perplex  your  mind. 
Great  was  the  cause ;  our  old  solemnities 
From  no  blind  zeal,  or  fond  tradition  rise ; 
But  saved  from  death,  our  Argives  yearly  pay 
These  grateful  honours  to  the  god  of  day. 

When  by  a  thousand  darts  the  Python  slain 
With  orbs  unroll'd  lay  covering  all  the  plain, 
(Transfix'd  as  o'er  Castalia's  streams  he  hung, 
And  suck'd  new  poisons  with  his  triple  tongue) 
To  Argos'  realms  the  victor  god  resorts, 
And  enters  old  Crotopus'  humble  courts. 
This  rural  prince  one  only  daughter  blest, 
That  all  the  charms  of  blooming  youth  possess'd ; 
Fair  was  her  face,  and  spotless  was  her  mind, 
Where  filial  love  with  virgin  sweetness  join'd. 
Happy  !  and  happy  still  she  might  have  proved, 
Were  she  less  beautiful,  or  less  beloved  ! 
But  Phoebus  loved,  and  on  the  flowery  side 
Of  Nemea's  stream,  the  yielding  fair  enjoy'd: 
Now,  ere  ten  moons  their  orb  with  light  adorn, 
The  illustrious  offspring  of  the  god  was  born, 
The  nymph,  her  father's 'anger  to  evade, 
Betires  from  Argos  to  the  silvan  shade ; 
To  woods  and  wilds  the  pleasing  burden  bears, 
And  trusts  her  infant  to  a  shepherd's  cares. 

How  mean  a  fate,  unhappy  child,  is  thine ! 
Ah  how  unworthy  those  of  race  divine  ! 
On  flowery  herbs  in  some  green  covert  laid, 
His  bed  the  ground,  his  canopy  the  shade, 
He  mixes  with  the  bleating  lambs  his  cries, 
While  the  rude  swain  his  rural  music  tries 
To  call  soft  slumbers  on  his  infant  eyes. 
Yet  e'en  hi  those  obscure  abodes  to  live, 
Was  more,  alas  !  than  cruel  fate  would  give ; 
For  on  the  grassy  verdure  as  he  lay, 
And  breathed  the  freshness  of  the  early  day, 
Devouring  dogs  the  helpless  infant  tore, 
Fed  on  his  trembling  limbs,  and  lapp'd  the  gore. 


TI1EBAIS    OF    STATIUS.  163 

The  astonish'd  mother,  when  the  rumour  came, 
Forgets  her  father,  and  neglects  her  fame, 
With  loud  complaints  she  tills  the  yielding  air, 
And  beats  her  breast,  and  rends  her  flowing  hair ; 
Then  wild  with  anguish  to  her  sire  she  flies, 
Demands  the  sentence,  and  contented  dies. 

But  touch'd  with  sorrow  for  the  dead  too  late, 
The  raging  god  prepares  to  avenge  her  fate. 
He  sends  a  monster,  horrible  and  fell, 
Begot  by  furies  in  the  depths  of  hell. 
The  pest  a  virgin's  face  and  bosom  bears ; 
High  on  a  crown  a  rising  snake  appears, 
Guards  her  black  front,  and  hisses  in  her  hairs : 
About  the  realm  she  walks  her  dreadful  round, 
When  night  with  sable  wings  o'erspreads  the  ground, 
Devours  young  babes  before  their  parents'  eyes, 
And  feeds  and  thrives  on  public  miseries. 

But  generous  rage  the  bold  Chorcebus  warms, 
Chorcebus  !  famed  for  virtue,  as  for  arms ; 
Some  few  like  him,  inspired  with  martial  flame, 
Thought  a  short  life  well  lost  for  endless  fame. 
These,  where  two  ways  in  equal  parts  divide, 
The  direful  monster  from  afar  descried ; 
Two  bleeding  babes  depending  at  her  side ; 
Whose  panting  vitals,  warm  with  life,  she  draws, 
And  in  their  hearts  embrues  her  cruel  claws. 
The  youths  surround  her  with  extended  spears; 
But  brave  Choroabus  in  the  front  appears, 
Deep  in  her  breast  he  plunged  his  shining  sword, 
And  hell's  dire  monster  back  to  hell  restored. 
The  Inachians  view  the  slain  with  vast  surprise, 
Her  twisting  volumes  and  her  rolling  eyes, 
Her  spotted  breast,  and  gaping  womb  imbued 
With  livid  poison,  and  our  children's  blood. 
The  crowd  in  stupid  wonder  fix'd  appear, 
Pale  e'en  in  joy,  nor  yet  forget  to  fear. 
Some  with  vast  beams  the  squalid  corpse  engage, 
And  weary  all  the  wild  efforts  of  rage. 
The  birds  obscene,  that  nightly  flock'd  to  taste, 
With  hollow  screeches  fled  the  dire  repast ; 
And  ravenous  dogs,  allured  by  scented  blood, 
And  starving  wolves,  ran  howling  to  the  wood. 

But  fired  with  rage,  from  4deft  Parnassus'  brow 


•-^-.---i^..-: 


•Hti-VnrWit 


J^l\*a  dnd  tw  i:laiw™fiii»B 


--    :  /"      .  -"-_  r-p. 


THEBAIS   OF   STATICS.  1G5 

The  clouds  dispersed.  Apollo's  wrath  expired, 
And  from  the  wondering  god  the  unwilling  youth 
Thence  we  these  altars  in  his  temple  raise,      [retired. 
And  offer  annual  honours,  feasts,  and  praise  ; 
These  solemn  feasts  propitious  Phoebus  please  : 
These  honours,  still  renew'd,  his  ancient  wrath  appease. 

But  say,  illustrious  guest,  (adjoined  the  King) 
What  name  you  bear,  from  what  high  race  you  spring  ? 
The  noble  Tydeus  stands  confess'd,  and  known 
Our  neighbour  prince,  and  heir  of  Calydon. 
Relate  your  fortunes,  while  the  friendly  night 
And  silent  hours  to  various  talk  invite. 

The  Theban  bends  on  earth  his  gloomy  eyes, 
Confused,  and  sadly  thus  at  length  replies : 
Before  these  altars  how  shall  I  proclaim 
(O  gen'rous  prince)  my  nation,  or  my  name, 
Or  through  what  veins  our  ancient  blood  has  roll'd  ? 
Let  the  sad  tale  for  ever  rest  untold  ! 
Yet  if,  propitious  to  a  wretch  unknown, 
You  seek  to  share  in  sorrows  not  your  own  ; 
Know  then  from  Cadmus  I  derive  my  race, 
Jocasta's  son,  and  Thebes  my  native  place. 
To  whom  the  king  (who  felt  his  generous  breast 
Touch'd  with  concern  for  his  unhappy  guest) 
Replies  : — Ah  why  forbears  the  son  to  name    • 
His  wretched  father  known  too  well  by  fame  1 
Fame,  that  delights  around  the  world  to  stray, 
Scorns  not  to  take  our  Argos  in  her  way ; 
E'en  those  who  dwell  where  suns  at  distance  roll, 
In  northern  wilds,  aiid  freeze  beneath  the  pole  ; 
And  those  who  tread  the  burning  Libyan  lands, 
The  faithless  Syrtis  and  the  moving  sands ; 
Who  view  the  western  sea's  extremest  bounds, 
Or  drink  of  Ganges  in  their  eastern  grounds ; 
All  these  the  woes  oi  (Edipus  have  known, 
Your  fates,  your  furies,  and  your  haunted  town. 
If  on  the  sons  the  parents'  crimes  descend, 
What  prince  from  those  his  lineage  can  defend  t 
Be  this  thy  comfort,  that  'tis  thine  to  efface 
With  virtuous  acts  thy  ancestor's  disgrace, 
And  be  thyself  the  honour  of  thy  race. 
But  see  !  the  stars  begin  to  steal  away, 
And  shine  more  faintly  at  approaching  day; 

16 


166  TIIEBAIS    OF   STATIUS. 

Now  pour  the  Avine ;  and  in  your  tuneful  lays 
Once  more  resound  the  great  Apollo's  praise. 

Oh  father  Phoebus  !  whether  Lycia's  coast 
And  snowy  mountain  thy  bright  presence  boast; 
Whether  to  sweet  Castalia  thou  repair, 
And  bathe  in  silver  dews  thy  yellow  hair; 
Or  pleased  to  find  fair  Delos  float  no  more, 
Delight  in  Cynthus  and  the  shady  shore ; 
Or  choose  thy  seat  in  Ilion's  proud  abodes, 
The  shining  structures  raised  by  labouring  gods 
By  thee  the  bow  and  mortal  shafts  are  borne ; 
Eternal  charms  thy  blooming  youth  adorn : 
Skill'd  in  the  laws  of  secret  fate  above, 
And  the  dark  counsels  of  almighty  Jove, 
Tis  thine  the  seeds  of  future  war  to  know, 
The  change  of  sceptres,  and  impending  woe ; 
When  direful  meteors  spread  through  glowing  air 
Long  trails  of  light,  and  shake  their  blazing  hair. 
Thy  rage  the  Phrygian  felt,  who  durst  aspire 
To  excel  the  music  of  thy  heavenly  lyre ; 
Thy  shafts  avenged  lewd  Tityus'  guilty  flame, 
The  immortal  victim  of  thy  mother's  fame ; 
Thy  hand  slew  Python,  and  the  dame  who  lost 
Her  numerous  offspring  for  a  fatal  boast. 
In  Phlegyas'  doom  thy  just  revenge  appears, 
Condemn'd  to  furies  and  eternal  fears ; 
He  views  his  food,  but  dreads,  with  lifted  eye, 
The  mouldering  rock  that  trembles  from  on  high. 

Propitious  hear  our  prayer,  O  power  divine ! 
And  on  thy  hospitable  Argos  shine  ; 
Whether  the  style  of  Titan  please  thee  more, 
Whose  purple  rays  the  Achaemenes  adore ; 
Or  great  Osiris,  who  first  taught  the  swain 
In  Pharian  fields  to  sow  the  golden  grain ; 
Or  Mithras,  to  whose  beams  the  Persian  bows, 
And  pays,  in  hollow  rocks,  his  awful  vows ; 
Mithras,  whose  head  the  blaze  of  light  adorns, 
Who  grasps  the  struggling  heifer's  lunar  hortifc 


167 
THE  FABLE  OF  DRYOPE. 

FROM   THE  NINTH  BOOK  OF  OVID'S  METAMORPHOSES. 


Upon  occasion  of  the  death  of  Hercules,  his  mother  Alcmena  recounts 
her  misfortunes  to  lole,  who  answers  with  a  relation  of  those  of  her  own 
family,  in  particular  the  transformation  of  her  sister  Dryope,  which  is 
the  subject  of  the  ensuing  fable. 

lole  was  a  daughter  of  Eurytus,  King  of  CEchalia.  Her  father  pro- 
mised her  in  marriage  to  Hercules,  but  refusing  to  perform  his  engage- 
ments, lole  was  carried  away  by  force.  It  was  to  extinguish  the  love  of 
Hercules  for  lole,  that  Dejanira  sent  him  the  poisoned  tunic,  which 
caused  his  death.  After  the  death  of  Hercules,  lole  married  his  son 
Uylius. 

SHE  said,  and  for  her  lost  Galanthis  sighs, 

When  the  fair  consort  of  her  son  replies: 

Since  you  a  servant's  ravish'd  form  bemoan, 

And  kindly  sigh  for  sorrows  not  your  own, 

Let  me  (if  tears  and  grief  permit)  relate 

A  nearer  woe,  a  sister's  stranger  fate. 

No  nymph  of  all  CEchalia  could  compare 

For  beauteous  form  with  Dryope  the  fair, 

Her  tender  mother's  only  hope  and  pride, 

(Myself  the  offspring  of  a  second  bride.) 

This  nymph  compress'd  by  him  who  rules  the  day, 

Whom  Delphi  and  the  Delian  isle  obey, 

Andraemon  loved ;  and,  bless'd  in  all  those  charms 

That  pleased  a  god,  succeeded  to  her  arms. 

A  lake  there  was,  with  shelving  banks  around, 
Whose  verdant  summit  fragrant  myrtles  crown'd : 
These  shades,  unknowing  of  the  fates,  she  sought, 
And  to  the  Naiads  flowery  garlands  brought ; 
Her  smiling  babe  (a  pleasing  charge)  she  prest 
Within  her  arms,  and  nourish'd  at  her  breast. 
Not  distant  far  a  watery  lotos  grows, 
The  spring  was  new,  and  all  the  verdant  boughs 
Adorn'd  with  blossoms  promised  fruits  that  vie 
In  glowing  colours  with  the  Tyrian  dye: 


168  TIIK    FABLE    OF   DKYOPE. 

Of  these  she  cropp'd,  to  please  her  infant  son, 

And  I  myself  the  same  rash  act  had  done: 

But  lo  !  I  saw  (as  near  her  side  I  stood) 

The  violated  blossoms  drop  with  blood ; 

Upon  the  tree  I  cast  a  frightful  look ; 

The  trembling  tree  with  sudden  horror  shook. 

Lotis  the  nymph  (if  rural  tales  be  true) 

As  from  Priapus1  lawless  lust  she  flew, 

Forsook  her  form ;  and  fixing  here  became 

A  flowery  plant,  which  still  preserves  her  name. 

This  change  unknown,  astonish'd  at  the  sight, 
My  trembling  sister  strove  to  urge  her  flight: 
And  first  the  pardon  of  the  nymphs  implored, 
And  those  offended  silvan  powers  adored : 
But  when  she  backward  would  have  fled,  she  found 
Her  stiffening  feet  were  rooted  in  the  ground: 
In  vain  to  free  her  fastened  feet  she  strove, 
And  as  she  struggles,  only  moves  above ; 
She  feels  the  encroaching  bark  around  her  grow 
By  quick  degrees,  and  cover  all  below: 
Surprised  at  this,  her  trembling  hand  she  heaves 
To  rend  her  hair ;  her  hand  is  fill'd  with  leaves : 
Where  late  was  hair  the  shooting  leaves  are  seen 
To  rise,  and  shade  her  with  a  sudden  green. 
The  child  Amphissus,  to  her  bosom  prest, 
Perceived  a  colder  and  a  harder  breast, 
And  found  the  springs,  that  ne'er  till  then  denied 
Their  milky  moisture,  on  a  sudden  dried. 
I  saw,  unhappy !  what  I  now  relate, 
And  stood  the  helpless  witness  of  thy  fate, 
Embraced  thy  boughs,  thy  rising  bark  delay'd, 
There  wish'd  to  grow,  and  mingle  shade  with  shade. 

Behold  Andrsemon  and  the  unhappy  sire 
Appear,  and  for  their  Dryope  inquire : 
A  springing  tree  for  Dryope  they  find, 
And  print  warm  kisses  on  the  panting  rind. 
Prostrate  with  tears  their  kindred  plant  bedew, 
And  close  embrace  as  to  the  roots  they  grew. 
The  face  was  all  that  now  remain'd  of  thee, 
No  more  a  woman,  nor  yet  quite  a  tree ; 
Thy  branches  hung  with  humid  pearls  appear, 
From  every  leaf  distils  a  trickling  tear, 
And  straight  a  voice,  while  yet  a  voice  remains, 
Thus  through  the  trembling  boughs  in  sighs  complains. 


THE  FABLE   OF   DRYOPE,  1G9 

If  to  the  wretched  any  faith  be  given, 
I  swear,  by  all  the  unpitying  powers  of  heaven, 
No  wilful  crime  this  heavy  vengeance  bred; 
In  mutual  innocence  our  lives  we  led : 
If  this  be  false,  let  these  new  greens  decay, 
Let  sounding  axes  lop  my  limbs  away, 
And  crackling  flames  on  all  my  honours  prey. 
But  from  my  branching  arms  this  infant  bear, 
Let  some  kind  nurse  supply  a  mother's  care : 
And  to  his  mother  let  him  oft  be  led, 
Sport  in  her  shades,  and  in  her  shades  be  fed ; 
Teach  him,  when  first  his  infant  voice  shall  frame 
Imperfect  words,  and  lisp  his  mother's  name, 
To  hail  this  tree,  and  say  with  weeping  eyes, 
"  Within  this  plant  my  hapless  parent  lies:" 
And  when  in  youth  he  seeks  the  shady  woods, 
Oh !  let  him  fly  the  crystal  lakes  and  floods, 
Nor  touch  the  fatal  flowers ;  but  warn'd  by  me, 
Believe  a  goddess  shrined  in  every  tree. 
My  sire,  my  sister,  and  my  spouse,  farewell ! 
If  in  your  breasts  or  love  or  pity  dwell, 
Protect  your  plant,  nor  let  my  branches  feel 
The  browzing  cattle  or  the  piercing  steel. 
Farewell !  and  since  I  cannot  bend  to  join 
My  lips  to  yours,  advance  at  least  to  mine. 
My  son,  thy  mother's  parting  kiss  receive, 
While  yet  thy  mother  has  a  Kiss  to  give. 
I  can  no  more ;  the  creeping  rind  invades 
My  closing  lips,  and  hides  my  head  in  shades ; 
Remove  your  hands,  the  bark  shall  soon  suffice 
Without  their  aid  to  seal  these  dying  eyes. 

She  ceased  at  once  to  speak,  and  ceased  to  be ; 
And  all  the  nymph  was  lost  within  the  tree ; 
Yet  latent  life  through  her  new  branches  reign'd, 
And  long  the  plant  a  human  heat  retain'd. 


16* 


170 

VERTUMNUS  AND  POMONA. 

FROM  THE   rOUBTEENTH  BOOK  OF  OVID'S  METAMORPHOSES. 

THE  fair  Pomona  flourish'd  in  his  reign; 

Of  all  the  virgins  of  the  silvan  train, 

None  taught  the  trees  a  nobler  race  to  bear, 

Or  more  improved  the  vegetable  care. 

To  her  the  shady  grove,  the  flowery  field, 

The  streams  and  fountains  no  delights  could  yield; 

'Twas  all  her  joy  the  ripening  fruits  to  tend, 

And  see  the  boughs  with  happy  burthens  bend. 

The  hook  she  bore  instead  of  Cynthia's  spear, 

To  lop  the  growth  of  the  luxuriant  year, 

To  decent  form  the  lawless  shoots  to  bring, 

And  teach  the  obedient  branches  where  to  spring. 

Now  the  cleft  rind  inserted  grafts  receives, 

And  yields  an  offspring  more  than  nature  gives ; 

Now  sliding  streams  the  thirsty  plants  renew, 

And  feed  their  fibres  with  reviving  dew. 

These  cares  alone  her  virgin  breast  employ, 
Averse  from  Venus  and  the  nuptial  joy. 
Her  private  orchards,  wall'd  on  every  side, 
To  lawless  silvaus  all  access  "denied. 
How  oft  the  satyrs  and  the  wanton  fawns, 
Who  haunt  the  forests,  or  frequent  the  lawns, 
The  god  whose  ensign  scares  the  birds  of  prey, 
And  old  Silenus,  youthful  in  decay 
Employed  their  wiles,  and  unavailing  care, 
To  pass  the  fences,  and  surprise  the  fair  ! 
Like  these,  Vertumnus  own'd  his  faithful  flame, 
Like  these,  rejected  by  the  scornful  dame. 
To  gam  her  sight  a  thousand  forms  he  wears ; 
And  first  a  reaper  from  the  field  appears. 
Sweating  he  walks,  while  loads  of  golden  grain 
O'ercharge  the  shoulders  of  the  seeming  swain. 
Oft  o'er  his  back  a  crooked  scythe  is  laid, 
And  wreaths  of  hay  his  sun-burnt  temples  shade  ; 
Oft  in  his  harden'd  hand  a-goad  he  bears, 
Like  one  who  late  unyoked  the  sweating  steers. 
Sometimes  his  pruning-hook  corrects  the  vines, 
And  the  loose  stragglers  to  their  ranks  confines. 


VERTUMXUS  AND  POMONA.          171 

Now  gathering  what  the  bounteous  year  allows, 
He  pulls  ripe  apples  from  the  bending  boughs. 
A  soldier  now,  he  with  his  sword  appears; 
A  fisher  next,  his  trembling  angle  bears ; 
Each  shape  he  varies,  and  each  art  he  tries, 
Ou  her  bright  charms  to  feast  his  longing  eyes. 

A  female  form  at  last  Vertumnus  wears, 
"With  all  the  marks  of  reverend  age  appears, 
His  temples  thinly  spread  with  silver  hairs ; 
Propp'd  on  his  staff,  and  stooping  as  he  goes, 
A  painted  mitre  shades  his  furrow'd  brows. 
The  god  in  this  decrepit  form  arrayed,  . 
The  gardens  entered,  and  the  fruit  surveyed ; 
And  "  Happy  you  !  (he  thus  address'd  the  maid) 
Whose  charms  as  far  all  other  nymphs'  outshine, 
As  other  gardens  are  excell'd  by  thine  !" 
Then  kiss'd  the  fair  (his  kisses  warmer  grow 
Than  such  as  women  on  their  sex  bestow). 
Then,  placed  beside  her  on  the  flowery  ground, 
Beheld  the  trees  with  autumn's  bounty  crown'd. 
An  elm  was  near,  to  whose  embraces  led, 
The  curling  vine  her  swelling  clusters  spread : 
He  view'd  her  twining  branches  with  delight, 
And  praised  the  beauty  of  the  pleasing  sight. 

Yet  this  tall  elm,  but  for  his  vine  (he  said) 
Had  stood  neglected,  and  a  barren  shade ; 
And  this  fair  vine,  but  that  her  arms  surround 
Her  married  elm,  had  crept  along  the  ground. 
Ah  !  beauteous  maid,  let  this  example  move 
Your  mind,  averse  from  all  the  joys  of  love. 
Deign  to  be  loved,  and  every  heart  subdue  ! 
What  nymph  could  e'er  attract  such  crowds  as  you  ? 
Not  she  whose  beauty  urged  the  centaur's  arms, 
Ulysses'  queen,  nor  Helen's  fatal  charms. 
E'en  now,  when  silent  scorn  is  all  they  gain, 
A  thousand  court  you,  though  they  court  in  vain ; 
A  thousand  silvans,  demigods,  and  gods, 
That  haunt  our  mountains  and  our  Alban  woods. 
But  if  you'll  prosper,  mark  what  I  advise, 
Whom  age  and  long  experience  render  wise, 
And  one  whose  tender  care  is  far  above 
All  that  these  lovers  ever  felt  of  love, 
(Far  more  than  e'er  can  by  yourself  be  guess'd) 
Fix  on  Vertumnus,  and  reject  the  rest. 


172  VKRTUMXUS  AND  POMONA.  ? 

For  his  firm  faith  I  dare  engage  my  own ; 

Scarce  to  himself  himself  is  better  known. 

To  distant  lands  Vertumnus  never  roves  ; 

Like  you,  contented  with  his  native  groves ; 

Nor  at  first  sight,  like  most,  admires  the  fair ; 

For  you  he  lives  ;  and  you  alone  shall  share 

His  last  affection  as  his  early  care. 

Besides,  he's  lovely  far  above  the  rest, 

With  youth  immortal,  jftad  with  beauty  blest. 

Add,  that  he  varies  every  shape  with  ease, 

And  tries  all  forms  that  may  Pomona  please. 

But,  what  should  most  excite  a  mutual  flame, 

Your  rural  cares  and  pleasures  are  the  same. 

To  him  your  orchard's  early  fruits  are  due ; 

(A  pleasing  offering  when  'tis  made  by  you) 

He  values  these  ;  but  yet,  alas !  complains, 

That  still  the  best  and  dearest  gift  remains. 

Not  the  fair  fruit  that  on  yon  branches  glows 

With  that  ripe  red  the  autumnal  sun  bestows ; 

Nor  tasteful  herbs  that  in  these  gardens  rise, 

Which  the  kind  soil  with  milky  sap  supplies  ; 

You,  only  you,  can  move  the  god's  desire  : 

Oh  crown  so  constant  and  so  pure  a  fire  ! 

Let  soft  compassion  touch  your  gentle  mind ; 

Think,  'tis  Vertumnus  begs  you  to  be  kind ! 

So  may  no  frost,  when  early  buds  appear, 

Destroy  the  promise  of  the  youthful  year  ; 

Nor  winds,  when  first  your  florid  orchard  blows, 

Shake  the  light  blossoms  from  their  blasted  boughs ! 

This  when  the  various  god  had  urged  in  vain, 
He  straight  assumed  his  native  form  again  ; 
Such,  and  so  bright  an  aspect  now  he  bears, 
As  when  through  clouds  the  emerging  sun  appears. 
And  thence  exerting  his  refulgent  ray, 
Dispels  the  darkness,  and  reveals  the  day. 
Force  he  prepared,  but  check'd  the  rash  design ; 
For  when  appearing  in  a  form  divine, 
The  nymph  surveys  him,  and  beholds  the  grace 
Of  charming  features,  and  a  youthful  face, 
In  her  soft  breast  consenting  passions  move, 
And  the  warm  maid  confess'd  a  mutual  love. 


173 
IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POET& 

DONE  BT  THE  AUTHOR  IN  HIS  YOUTH. 


SPENSER. 


THE    ALLEY. 

I. 

In  every  town,  where  Thamis  rolls  his  tyde, 
A  narrow  pass  there  is,  with  houses  low ; 
Where,  ever  and  anon,  the  stream  is  eyed, 
And  many  a  boat  soft  sliding  to  and  fro. 
There  oft  are  heard  the  notes  of  infant  woe, 
The  short  thick  sob,  loud  scream,  and  shriller  squall: 
How  can  ye,  mothers,  vex  your  children  so  1 
Some  play,  some  eat,  some  cack  against  the  wall, 
And  as  they  crouchen  low,  for  bread  and  butter  call. 

ii. 

And  on  the  broken  pavement,  here  and  there, 
Doth  many  a  stinking  sprat  and  herring  lie : 
A  brandy  and  tobacco  shop  is  near, 
And  hens,  and  dogs,  and  hogs  are  feeding  by; 
And  here  a  sailor's  jacket  hangs  to  dry. 
At  every  door  are  sun-burnt  matrons  seen, 
Mending  old  nets  to  catch  the  scaly  fry ; 
Now  singing  shrill,  and  scolding  eft  between ;  [I  ween. 
Scolds  answer foul-mouth'd  scolds;  bad  neighbourhood 

in. 

The  snappish  cur  (the  passengers'  annoy) 
Close  at  my  heel  with  yelping  treble  flies ; 
The  whimpering  girl,  and  hoarser-screaming  boy 
Join  to  the  yelping  treble,  shrilling  cries ; 


174  IMITATIONS   OF  ENGLISH   POETS. 

The  scolding  quean  to  louder  notes  doth  rise, 
And  her  full  pipes  those  shrilling  cries  confound; 
To  her  full  pipes  the  grunting  hog  replies ; 
The  grunting  hogs  alarm  the  neighbours  round, 
And  curs,  girls,  boys,  and  scolds,  in  the  deep  bass  are 
drown'd. 

IV. 

Hard  by  a  sty,  beneath  a  roof  of  thatch, 

Dwelt  Obloquy,  who  in  her  early  days 

Baskets  of  fish  at  Billingsgate  did  watch, 

Cod,  whiting,  oyster,  mackerel,  sprat,  or  plaice  : 

There  learn'd  she  speech  from  tongues  that  never  cease. 

Slander  beside  her,  like  a  magpie,  chatters, 

With  Envy,  (spitting  cat)  dread  foe  to  peace ; 

Like  a  cursed  cur,  Malice  before  her  clatters, 

And  vexing  every  wight,  tears  clothes  and  all  to  tatters. 


Her  dugs  were  mark'd  by  every  collier's  hand, 
Her  mouth  was  black  as  bull-dog's  at  the  stall : 
She  scratched,  bit,  and  spared  ne  lace  ne  band, 
And  bitch  and  rogue  her  answer  was  to  all ; 
Nay,  even  the  parts  of  shame  by  name  would  call : 
Yea,  when  she  passes  by  or  lane  or  nook, 
Would  greet  the  man  who  turn'd  him  to  the  wall, 
And  by  his  hand  obscene  the  porter  took 
Nor  ever  did  askance  like  modest  virgin  look. 

VI. 

Such  place  hath  Deptford,  navy-building  town, 
Woolwich  and  Wapping,  smelling  strong  of  pitch  ; 
Such  Lambeth,  envy  of  each  band  and  gown, 
And  Twickenham  such,  which  fairer  scenes  enrich, 
Grots,  statues,  urns,  and  Jo — n's  dog  and  bitch, 
Ne  village  is  without,  on  either  side, 
All  up  the  silver  Thames,  or  all  adown  ; 
Ne  Eichmond's  self,  from  whose  tall  front  are  eyed 
Vales,  spires,  meandering    streams,  and  Windsor's 
towery  pride. 


IMITATIONS   OF   ENGLISH   POETS.  175 

II. 

WALLER. 

ON  A  LADY  SINGING  TO  HER  LUTE. 

FAIR  charmer,  cease,  nor  make  your  voice's  prize 
A  heart  resign'd  the  conqiiest  of  your  eyes : 
"Well  might,  alas  !  that  threaten'd  vessel  fail, 
Which  winds  and  lightning  both  at  once  assail. 
We  were  too  bless'd  with  these  enchanting  lays, 
Which  must  be  heavenly  when  an  angel  plays : 
But  killing  charms  your  lover's  death  contrive, 
Lest  heavenly  music  should  be  heard  alive. 
Orpheus  could  charm  the  trees  ;  but  thus  a  tree, 
Taught  by  your  hand,  can  charm  no  less  than  he  : 
A  poet  made  the  silent  wood  pursue, 
This  vocal  wood  had  drawn  the  poet  too. 


ON  A  FAN  OF  THE  AUTHOR'S  DESIGN, 

OK  WHICH  WAS   PAINTED  THE   STORY  OF  CEPHALCS  AND   PBOCRU, 
WITH    THE  MOTTO    "AURA  VESI." 

COME,  gentle  air !  the  yEolhm  shepherd  said, 

While  Procris  panted  in  the  secret  shade ; 

Come,  gentle  air  !  the  fairer  Delia  cries, 

While  at  her  feet  her  swain  expiring  lies. 

Lo  the  glad  gales  o'er  all  her  beauties  stray, 

Breathe  on  her  lips,  and  in  her  bosom  play ! 

In  Delia's  hand  this  toy  is  fatal  found, 

Nor  could  that  fabled  dart  more  surely  wound : 

Both  gifts  destructive  to  the  givers  prove ; 

Alike  both  lovers  fall  by  those  they  love. 

Yet  guiltless  too  this  bright  destroyer  lives, 

At  random  wounds,  nor  knows  the  wound  she  gives ; 

She  views  the  story  with  attentive  eyes, 

And  pities  Procris,  while  her  lover  dies. 


:  .  ..  i  ;   -.  ' 


.:       .---   -     - 


-;,-  -. 


IMITATIONS  OP  ENGLISH  POETS.  177 

WEEPINGS 

WHILE  Celia's  tears  make  sorrow  bright^ 

Proud  Grief  sits  swelling  in  her  eyesj 
The  sun,  next  those  the  fairest  light, 

Thus  from  the  Ocean  first  did  rise : 
And  thus  through  mists  we  see  the  sun, 
Which  else  we  durst  not  gaze  upon. 

These  silver  drops,  like  morning  dew, 

Foretell  the  fervour  of  the  day: 
So  from  one  cloud  soft  showers  we  view, 

And  blasting  lightnings  burst  away. 
The  stars  that  fall  from  Celia's  eye, 
Declare  our  doom  in  drawing  nigh. 

The  baby  in  that  sunny  sphere 

So  like  a  Phaeton  appears, 
That  Heaven,  the  threaten'd  world  to  spare, 

Thought  fit  to  drown  him  in  her  tears ; 
Else  might  the  ambitious  nymph  aspire, 
To  set,  like  him,  heaven  too  on  fire. 


rv. 
EAEL  OF  ROCHESTER. 

ON  SILENCE. 


SILEKCE  !  coeval  with  Eternity; 

Thou  wert,  ere  Nature's  self  began  to  be, 
Twas  one  vast  nothing,  all,  and  all  slept  fast  in  thee. 

ii. 

Thine  was  the  sway,  ere  heaven  was  form'd,  or  earth 
Ere  fruitful  thought  conceived  creation's  birth, 
Or  midwife  word  gave  aid,  and  spoke  the  infant  forth. 

m. 

Then  various  elements,  against  thee  join'd, 
In  one  more  various  animal  combme.l, 
Alld  framed  the  clamorous  race  of  busy  human  kind* 
17 


178  IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH   POETS. 


IV. 

The  tongue  moved  gently  first,  and  speech  was  low, 
Till  wrangling  Science  taught  it  noise  and  show , 
And  wicked  Wit  arose,  thy  most  abusive  foe. 


But  rebel  "Wit  deserts  thee  oft  in  vain ; 
Lost  in  the  maze  of  words  he  turns  again, 
And  seeks  a  surer  state,  and  courts  thy  gentle  reign. 

VI. 

Afflicted  Sense  thou  kindly  dost  set  free, 
Oppress'd  with  argumental  tyranny, 
And  routed  Reason  finds  a  safe  retreat  in  thee. 

VII. 

"With  thee  in  private  modest  Dulness  lies, 
And  in  thy  bosom  lurks  in  Thought's  disguise ; 
Thou  varnisher  of  fools,  and  cheat  of  all  the  wise  ! 

VIII. 

Yet  thy  indulgence  is  by  both  confest ; 
Folly  by  thee  lies  sleeping  in  the  breast, 
And  'tis  in  thee  at  last  that  Wisdom  seeks  for  rest. 

IX. 

Silence,  the  knave's  repute,  the  whore's  good  name, 
The  only  honour  of  the  wishing  dame ; 
The  very  want  of  tongue  makes  thee  a  kind  of  fame. 

x. 

But  could'st  thou  seize  some  tongues  that  now  are 

free, 

How  church  and  state  should  be  obliged  to  thee  ! 
At  senate,  and  at  bar,  how  welcome  would'st  thou  be ! 

XI. 

Yet  speech  even  there,  submissively  withdraws, 
From  rights  of  subjects,  and  the  poor  man's  cause: 
Then  pompous  Silence  reigns,  and  stills  the  noisy 
Laws. 

XII. 

Past  services  of  friends,  good  deeds  of  foes, 
What  favourites  gain,  and  what  the  nation  owes, 
Fly  the  forgetful  world,  and  in  thy  arms  repose, 


IMITATIONS  OP  ENGLISH  POETS.  179 

XIII. 

The  country  wit,  religion  of  the  town, 
The  courtier's  learning,  policy  o'  the  gown, 
Are  best  by  thee  express'd ;  and  shine  in  thee  alone. 

XIV. 

The  parson's  cant,  the  lawyer's  sophistry, 
Lord's  quibble,  critic's  jest;  all  end  in  thee, 
All  rest  in  peace  at  last,  and  sleep  eternally. 


v. 
EARL  OF  DOESET. 

ARTEMISIA. 

THOUGH  Artemisia  talks  by  fits, 
Of  councils,  classics,  fathers,  wits ; 

Reads  Malebranche,  Boyle,  and  Locke: 
Yet  in  some  things  methinks  she  fails, 
'Twere  well  if  she  would  pare  her  nails, 

And  wear  a  cleaner  smock. 

Haughty  and  huge  as  High-Dutch  bride, 
Such  nastiness,  and  so  much  pride, 

Are  oddly  join'd  by  fate: 
On  her  large  squab  you  find  her  spread, 
Like  a  iat  corpse  upon  a  bed, 

That  lies  and  stinks  in  state. 

She  wears  no  colours  (sign  of  grace) 
On  any  part  except  her  face; 

All  white  and  black  beside: 
Dauntless  her  look,  her  gesture  proud, 
Her  voice  theatrically  loud, 

And  masculine  her  stride. 

So  have  I  seen  in  black  and  white 
A  prating  thing,  a  magpie  hight, 

Majestically  stalk; 
A  stately  worthless  animal, 
That  plies  the  tongue,  and  wags  the  tail, 

All  flutter,  pride,  and  talk. 


180  IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH   POETS. 


PHRYNE  had  talents  for  mankind, 
Open  she  was,  and  unconfined, 

Like  some  free  port  of  trade: 
Merchants  unloaded  here  their  freight, 
And  agents  from  each  foreign  state, 

Here  first  their  entry  made. 

Her  learning  and  good-breeding  such, 
Whether  the  Italian  or  the  Dutch, 

Spaniards  or  French  came  to  her: 
To  all  obliging  she'd  appear: 
'Twas  Si  Signor,  'twas  Yaw  Mynheer, 

'Twas  S'il  vous  plait,  Monsieur. 

Obscure  by  birth,  renown'd  by  crimes, 
Still  changing  names,  religions,  climes, 

At  length  she  turns  a  bride : 
In  diamonds,  pearls,  and  rich  brocades, 
She  shines  the  first  of  batter'd  jades, 

And  flutters  in  her  pride. 

So  have  I  known  those  insects  fair 
(Which  curious  Germans  hold  so  rare) 

Still  vary  shapes  and  dyes ; 
Still  gain  new  titles  with  new  forma ; 
First  grubs  obscene,  then  wriggling  worms, 

Then  painted  butterflies. 


VI. 

BE.  SWIFT. 


THE  HAPPY  LIFE  OF  A  COUNTRY  PARSON. 

PARSON,  these  things  in  thy  possessing 
Are  better  than  the  bishop's  blessing. 
A  wife  that  makes  conserves ;  a  steed 
That  carries  double  when  there's  need; 
October  store,  and  best  Virginia, 
Tithe-pig,  and  mortuary  guinea 


IMITATIONS   OF    EXGLIS1I    POETS.  181 

Gazettes  sent  gratis  down,  and  frank'd ; 
For  which  thy  patron's  weekly  thank'd; 
A  large  Concordance,  bound  long  since ; 
Sermons  to  Charles  the  First,  when  Prince  j 
A  Chronicle  of  ancient  standing ; 
A  Chrysostom  to  smooth  thy  band  in : 
The  Polyglott— three  parts,— my  text: 
Howbeit, — likewise — now  to  my  next: 
Lo  here  the  Septuagint, — and  Paul, 
To  sum  the  whole, — the  close  of  alL 

He  that  has  these,  may  pass  his  life, 
Drink  with  the  'squire,  and  kiss  his  wife ; 
On  Sundays  preach,  and  eat  his  fill; 
And  fast  on  Fridays — if  he  will ; 
Toast  Church  and  Queen,  explain  the  news, 
Talk  with  church-wardens  about  pews, 
Pray  heartily  for  some  new  gift, 
And  shake  his  head  at  Dr.  S— t. 


IV* 


182 


MISCELLANIES. 


EPISTLE  TO  EGBERT  EARL  OF  OXFORD,  AND 
EARL  OF  MORTIMER. 

Sent  to  the  Earl  of  Oxford  with  Dr.  Parnell's  Poems,  published  by  our 
author,  after  the  said  Earl's  imprisonment  in  the  Tower,  and  retrea  1  into 
the  country,  in  the  year  1721. 

SUCH  were  the  notes  thy  once-loved  poet  sung, 
Till  death  untimely  stopp'd  his  tuneful  tongue. 
Oh  just  beheld,  and  lost !  admired  and  mourn'd ! 
With  softest  manners,  gentlest  arts  adorn'd  ! 
Blest  in  each  science,  blest  in  every  strain ! 
Dear  to  the  Muse  ! — to  HARLEY  dear — in  vain  ! 

For  him,  thou  oft  hast  bid  the  world  attend, 
Fond  to  forget  the  statesman  in  the  friend ; 
For  SWIFT  and  him,  despised  the  farce  of  state, 
The  sober  follies  of  the  wise  and  great ; 
Dext'rous,  the  craving,  fawning  crowd  to  quit, 
And  pleased  to  'scape  from  Flattery  to  Wit. 

Absent  or  dead,  still  let  a  friend  be  dear, 
(A  sigh  the  absent  claims,  the  dead  a  tear) 
Recall  those  nights  that  closed  thy  toilsome  days, 
Still  hear  thy  Parnell  in  his  living  lays, 
Who,  careless  now  of  interest,  fame,  or  fate, 
Perhaps  forgets  that  OXFORD  e'er  was  great ; 
Or,  deeming  meanest  what  we  greatest  call, 
Beholds  thee  glorious  only  in  thy  fall. 

And  sure,  if  aught  below  the  seats  divine 
Can  touch  immortals,  'tis  a  soul  like  thine : 
A  soul  supreme,  in  each  hard  instance  tried, 
"-- ride, 


The  rage  of  power,  the  blast  of  public  breath, 
The  lust  of  lucre,  and  the  dread  of  death. 
In  vain  to  deserts  thy  retreat  is  made ; 
The  Muse  attends  thee  to  thy  silent  shade: 


MISCELLANIES.  183 

Tis  hers,  the  brave  man's  latest  steps  to  trace, 
Rejudge  his  acts,  and  dignify  disgrace. 
When  Interest  calls  off  all  her  sneaking  train, 
And  all  the  obliged  desert,  and  all  the  vain; 
She  waits,  or  to  the  scaffold,  or  the  cell, 
When  the  last  lingering  friend  has  bid  farewell. 
Even  now  she  shades  thy  evening-walk  with  bays, 
(No  hireling  she,  no  prostitute  to  praise) 
Even  now,  observant  of  the  parting  ray, 
Eyes  the  calm  sun-set  of  thy  various  day, 
Through  Fortune's  cloud  one  truly  great  can  see, 
Nor  fears  to  tell,  that  MORTIMER  is  he. 


EPISTLE  TO  JAMES  CRAGGS, 

SECRETARY  OF  STATE. 

A  SOUL  as  full  of  worth,  as  void  of  pride, 
Which  nothing  seeks  to  show,  or  needs  to  hide, 
Which  nor  to  guilt  nor  fear  its  caution  owes, 
And  boasts  a  warmth  that  from  no  passion  flows. 
A  face  untaught  to  feign;  a  judging  eye, 
That  darts  severe  upon  a  rising  Ue, 
And  strikes  a  blush  through  frontless  flattery. 
All  this  thou  wert;  and  being  this  before, 
Know,  kings  and  fortune  cannot  make  thee  more. 
Then  scorn  to  gain  a  friend  by  servile  ways, 
Nor  wish  to  lose  a  foe  these  virtues  raise ; 
But  candid,  free,  sincere,  as  you  began, 
Proceed — a  minister,  but  still  a  man. 
Be  not  (exalted  to  whate'er  degree) 
Ashamed  of  any  friend,  not  even  of  me : 
The  patriot's  plain,  but  untrod,  path  pursue; 
If  not,  'tis  I  must  be  ashamed  of  you. 


184 


EPISTLE  TO  MB.  JERVAS, 

WITH  MB.  DKYDEN'S   TRANSLATION  OF    FKESNOY'S  ART  OP 
PAINTING. 

THIS  verse  be  thine,  my  friend,  nor  thou  refuse 
This,  from  no  venal  or  ungrateful  muse. 
Whether  thy  hand  strike  out  some  free  design, 
Where  life  awakes,  and  dawns  at  every  line; 
Or  blend  in  beauteous  tints  the  colour'd  mass, 
And  from  the  canvass  call  the  mimic  face : 
Read  these  instructive  leaves,  in  which  conspire 
Fresnoy's  close  art,  and  Dryden's  native  fire : 
And  reading,  wish,  like  theirs,  our  fate  and  fame, 
So  mix'd  our  studies,  and  so  join'd  our  name; 
Like  them  to  shine  through  long  succeeding  age, 
So  just  thy  skill,  so  regular  my  rage. 

Smit  with  the  love  of  sister-arts  we  came, 
And  met  congenial,  mingling  flame  with  flame; 
Like  friendly  colours  found  them  both  unite, 
And  each  from  each  contract  new  strength  and  light. 
How  oft  in  pleasing  tasks  we  wear  the  day, 
While  summer-suns  roll  unperceived  away ! 
How  oft  our  slowly-growing  works  impart, 
While  images  reflect  from  art  to  art ! 
How  oft  review ;  each  finding  like  a  friend 
Something  to  blame,  and  something  to  commend. 

What  flattering  scenes  our  wandering  fancy  wrought, 
Rome's  pompous  glories  rising  to  our  thought ! 
Together  o'er  the  Alps  methinks  we  fly, 
Fired  with  ideas  of  fair  Italy. 
With  thee,  on  Raphael's  monument  I  mourn, 
Or  wait  inspiring  dreams  at  Maro's  urn: 
With  thee  repose,  where  Tully  once  was  laid, 
Or  seek  some  ruin's  formidable  shade : 
While  fancy  brings  the  vanish'd  piles  to  view, 
And  builds  imaginary  Rome  anew, 
Here  thy  well-studied  marbles  fix  our  eye; 
A  fading  fresco  here  demands  a  sigh ; 
Each  heavenly  piece  unwearied  we  compare, 
Match  Raphael's  grace  with  thy  loved  Guide's  air, 
Carracci's  strength,  Correggio's  softer  line, 
Paulo's  free  stroke,  and  Titian's  warmth  divine. 


MISCELLANIES.  185 

How  finish'd  with  illustrious  toil  appears 
This  small,  well-polished  gem,  the  work  of  years  ! 
Yet  still  how  faint  by  precept  is  express'd 
The  living  image  in  the  painter's  breast ! 
Thence  endless  streams  of  fair  ideas  flow, 
Strike  in  the  sketch,  or  in  the  picture  glow ; 
Thence  beauty,  waking  all  her  forms,  supplies 
An  angel's  sweetness,  or  Bridgewater's  eyes. 

Muse !  at  that  name  thy  sacred  sorrows  shed, 
Those  tears  eternal,  that  embalm  the  dead : 
Call  round  her  tomb  each  object  of  desire, 
Each  purer  frame  inform'd  with  purer  fire: 
Bid  her  be  all  that  cheers  or  softens  life, 
The  tender  sister,  daughter,  friend,  and  wife: 
Bid  her  be  all  that  makes  mankind  adore; 
Then  view  this  marble,  and  be  vain  no  more ! 

Yet  still  her  charms  in  breathing  paint  engage ; 
Her  modest  cheek  shall  warm  a  future  age. 
Beauty,  trail  flower !  that  every  season  fears, 
Blooms  in  thy  colours  for  a  thousand  years. 
Thus  Churchill's  race  shall  other  he:irts  surprise, 
And  other  beauties  envy  Worsley's  eyes ; 
Each  pleasing  Blount  shall  endless  smiles  bestow, 
And  soft  Belinda's  blush  for  ever  glow. 

Oh  lasting  as  those  colours  may  they  shine, 
Free  as  thy  stroke,  yet  faultless  as  thy  line ; 
New  graces  yearly  like  thy  works  display, 
Soft  without  weakness,  without  glaring  gay ; 
Led  by  some  rule,  that  guides,  but  not  constrains; 
And  nnish'd  more  through  happiness  than  pains. 
The  kindred  arts  shall  in  their  praise  conspire, 
One  dip  the  pencil,  and  one  string  the  lyre. 
Yet  should  the  graces  all  thy  figures  place, 
And  breathe  an  air  divine  on  every  face; 
Yet  should  the  Muses  bid  my  numbers  roll 
Strong  as  their  charms,  and  gentle  as  their  soul; 
With  Zeuxis'  Helen  thy  Bridgewater  vie, 
And  these  be  sung  till  Granville's  Myra  die : 
Alas  !  how  little  from  the  grave  we  claim ! 
Thou  but  preserv'st  a  face,  and  I  a  name. 


186 
EPISTLE  TO   MRS.   BLOUNT. 

WITH  THE  WORKS  OF   VOITURE. 

IN  these  gay  thoughts  the  loves  and  graces  shine, 
And  all  the  writer  lives  in  every  line; 
His  easy  art  may  happy  nature  seem, 
Trifles  themselves  are  elegant  in  him. 
Sure  to  charm  all  was  his  peculiar  fate, 
Who  without  flattery  pleased  the  fair  and  great ; 
Still  with  esteem  no  less  conversed  than  read ; 
With  wit  well-natured,  and  with  books  well-bred : 
His  heart,  his  mistress  and  his  friend  did  share, 
His  time,  the  muse,  the  witty,  and  the  fair. 
Thus  wisely  careless,  innocently  gay, 
Cheerful  he  play'd  the  trifle,  life,  away; 
Till  fate  scarce  felt  his  gentle  breath  supprest, 
As  smiling  infants  sport  themselves  to  rest. 
Even  rival  wits  did  Voiture's  death  deplore, 
And  the  gay  mourn'd  who  never  mourn'd  before; 
The  truest  hearts  forVoiture  heaved  with  sighs, 
"Voiture  was  wept  by  all  the  brightest  eyes : 
The  smiles  and  loves  had  died  in  Voiture's  death, 
But  that  for  ever  in  his  lines  they  breathe. 

Let  the  strict  life  of  graver  mortals  be 
A  long,  exact,  and  serious  comedy; 
In  every  scene  some  moral  let  it  teach, 
And,  if  it  can,  at  once  both  please  and  preach. 
Let  mine  an  innocent  gay  farce  appear, 
And  more  diverting  still  than  regular, 
Have  Mmour,  wit,  a  native  ease  and  grace, 
Though  not  too  strictly  bound  to  time  and  place : 
Critics  in  wit,  or  life,  are  hard  to  please, 
Few  write  to  those,  and  none  can  live  to  these. 

Too  much  your  sex  is  by  their  forms  confined, 
Severe  to  all,  but  most  to  womankind; 
Custom,  grown  blind  with  age,  must  be  your  guide; 
Your  pleasure  is  a  vice,  but  not  your  pride; 
By  nature  yielding,  stubborn  but  for  fame; 
Made  slaves  by  honour,  and  made  fools  by  shame. 
Marriage  may  all  those  petty  tyrants  chase, 
But  sets  up  one,  a  greater  in  their  place : 


MISCELLANIES.  187 

Well  might  you  wish  for  change  by  those  accurst, 

But  the  last  tyrant  ever  proves  the  worst. 

Still  in  constraint  your  suffering  sex  remains, 

Or  bound  in  formal,  or  in  real  chains : 

Whole  years  neglected,  for  some  months  adored, 

The  fawning  servant  turns  a  haughty  lord. 

Ah  quit  not  the  free  innocence  of  life, 

For  the  dull  glory  of  a  virtuous  wife; 

Nor  let  false  shows  nor  empty  titles  please : 

Aim  not  at  joy,  but  rest  content  with  ease. 

The  gods,  to  curse  Pamela  with  her  prayers 
Gave  the  gilt  coach  and  dappled  Flanders  mares, 
The  shining  robes,  rich  jewels,  beds  of  state, 
And,  to  complete  her  bliss,  a  fool  for  mate. 
She  glares  in  balls,  front  boxes,  and  the  ring, 
A  vain,  unquiet,  glittering,  wretched  thing ! 
Pride,  pomp,  and  state,  but  reach  her  outward  part, 
She  sighs,  and  is  no  duchess  at  her  heart. 

But,  madam,  if  the  fates  withstand,  and  you 
Are  destined  Hymen's  willing  victim  too; 
Trust  not  too  much  your  now  resistless  charms, 
Those,  age  or  sickness,  soon  or  late,  disarms : 
Good-humour  only  teaches  charms  to  last, 
Still  makes  new  conquests,  and  maintains  the  past ; 
Love,  raised  on  beauty,  will  like  that  decay, 
Our  hearts  may  bear  its  slender  chain  a  duy ; 
As  flowery  bands  in  wantonness  are  worn, 
A  morning's  pleasure,  and  at  evening  torn ; 
This  binds  in  ties  more  easy,  yet  more  strong, 
The  willing  heart,  and  only  holds  it  long. 

Thus  Voiture's  early  care1  still  shone  the  same, 
And  Montausier  was  only  changed  in  name  : 
By  this,  even  now  they  live,  even  now  they  charm, 
Their  wit  still  sparkling,  and  their  flames  still  warm. 

Now  crown'd  with  myrtle,  on  the  Elysian  coast, 
Amid  those  lovers,  joys  his  gentle  ghost : 
Pleased,  while  with  smiles  his  happy  lines  you  view, 
And  finds  a  fairer  Rambouillet  in  you. 
The  brightest  eyes  of  France  inspired  his  Muse; 
The  brightest  eyes  of  Britain  now  peruse; 
And  dead,  as  living,  'tis  our  author's  pride 
Still  to  charm  those  who  charm  the  world  besida 

i  Mademoiselle  Paulet. 


188 


EPISTLE  TO  THE  SAME, 

ON  HER  LEAVING  THE  TOWN  AFTER  THE  CORONATION.1 

As  some  fond  virgin,  whom  her  mother's  care 
Drags  from  the  town  to  wholesome  country  air, 
Just  when  she  learns  to  roll  a  melting  eye, 
And  hear  a  spark,  yet  think  no  danger  nigh ; 
From  the  dear  man  unwilling  she  must  sever, 
Yet  takes  one  kiss  before  she  parts  for  ever : 
Thus  from  the  world  fair  Zephalinda  flew, 
Saw  others  happy,  and  with  sighs  withdrew ; 
Not  that  their  pleasures  caused  her  discontent. 
She  sigh'd  not  that  they  stay'd,  but  that  she  went. 
She  went,  to  plain- work,  and  to  purling  brooks, 
Old-fashion'd  halls,  dull  aunts,  and  croaking  rooks : 
She  went  from  opera,  park,  assembly,  play, 
To  morning-walks,  and  prayers  three  hours  a  day ; 
To  part  her  time  'twixt  reading  and  bohea, 
To  muse,  and  spill  her  solitary  tea, 
Or  o'er  cold  coffee  trifle  with  the  spoon, 
Count  the  slow  clock,  and  dine  exact  at  noon : 
Divert  her  eyes  with  pictures  in  the  fire, 
Hum  half  a  tune,  tell  stories  to  the  squire ; 
Up  to  her  godly  garret  after  seven, 
There  starve  and  pray,  for  that's  the  way  to  heaven. 

Some  squire,  perhaps,  you  take  delight  to  rack ; 
Whose  game  is  whist,  whose  treat  a  toast  in  sack ; 
Who  visits  with  a  gun,  presents  you  birds, 
Then  gives  a  smacking  buss,  and  cries, — No  words  ! 
Or  with  his  hound  comes  hallooing  from  the  stable ; 
Makes  love  with  nods,  and  knees  beneath  a  table ; 
Whose  laughs  are  hearty,  tho'  his  jests  are  coarse, 
And  loves  you  best  of  all  things — but  his  horse. 
In  some  fair  evening,  on  your  elbow  laid, 

You  dream  of  triumphs  in  the  rural  shade  ; 

In  pensive  thought  recall  the  fancied  scene, 

Bee  coronations  rise  on  every  green  ; 

Before  you  pass  the  imaginary  sights 

Of  lords,  and  earls,  and  dukes,  and  garter'd  knights, 

While  the  spread  fan  o'ershades  your  closing  eyes ; 

Then  give  one  flirt,  and  all  the  vision  flies. 

1  Of  King  George  I.,  1716. 


MISCELLANIES.  189 

Thus  vanish  sceptres,  coronets,  and  balls, 
And  leave  your  in  lone  woods,  or  empty  walls ! 

So  when  you  slave,  at  some  dear  idle  time, 
(Not  plagued  with  head-aches,  or  the  want  of  rhyme) 
Stands  in  the  streets,  abstracted  from  the  crew, 
And  while  he  seems  to  study,  thinks  of  you  ; 
Just  when  his  fancy  points  your  sprightly  eyes, 
Or  sees  the  blush  of  soft  Parthenia  rise, 
GAY  pats  my  shoulder,  and  you  vanish  quite, 
Streets,  chairs,  and  coxcombs,  rush  upon  my  sight ; 
Vex'd  to  be  still  in  town,  I  knit  my  brow, 
Look  sour,  and  hum  a  tune,  as  you  may  now. 


THE    BASSET-TABLE. 

AN   ECLOGUE. 

CARDELIA.      S.MILI.NDA. 


THE  basset-table  spread,  the  tattier  come ; 
Why  stays  SMILINDA  in  the  dressing-room  ? 
Rise,  pensive  nymph,  the  tallier  waits  for  you ! 

SMILINDA. 

Ah,  madam,  since  my  SHARPER  is  untrue, 
I  joyless  make  my  once  adored  Alpeu. 
I  saw  him  stand  behind  OMBRELIA'S  chair, 
And  whisper  with  that  soft,  deluding  air, 
And  those  feign'd  sighs  which  cheat  the  listening  fair. 


Is  this  the  cause  of  your  romantic  strains  ? 
A  mightier  grief  my  heavy  heart  sustains. 
As  you  by  love,  so  I  by  fortune  cross'd ; 
One,  one  bad  deal,  three  Septlevas  have  lost 

SMILINDA. 

Is  that  the  grief,  which  you  compare  with  mine  ? 
With  ease,  the  smiles  of  fortune  I  resign : 
Would  all  my  gold  in  one  bad  deal  were  gone ! 
Were  lovely  SHARPER  mine,  and  mine  alone. 
18 


190  MISCELLANIES. 


A  lover  lost,  is  but  a  common  care : 
And  prudent  nymphs  against  that  change  prepare: 
The  KNAVE  OF  CLUBS  thrice  lost !  Oh  !  who  could  guess 
This  fatal  stroke,  this  unforeseen,  distress  I 


See  BETTY  LOVET  !  very  d-propos, 
She  all  the  cares  of  love  and  play  does  know: 
Dear  BETTY  shall  the  important  point  decide; 
BETTY,  who  oft  the  pain  of  each  has  tried ; 
Impartial,  she  shall  say  who  suffers  most, 
By  cards'  ill  usage,  or  by  lovers  lost. 


Tell,  tell  your  griefs;  attentive  will  I  stay, 
Though  time  is  precious,  and  I  want  some  tea. 


Behold  this  equipage,  by  Mathers  wrought, 
With  fifty  guineas  (a  great  pen'orth)  bought. 
See  on  the  tooth-pick,  Mars  and  Cupid  strive; 
And  both  the  struggling  figures  seem  alive. 
Upon  the  bottom  shines  the  queen's  bright  face ; 
A  myrtle  foliage  round  the  thimble- case. 
Jove,  Jove  himself,  does  on  the  scissors  shine; 
The  metal,  and  the  workmanship,  divine  1 

SMILINDA. 

This  snuff-box, — once  the  pledge  of  SHARPER'S  love, 
When  rival  beauties  for  the  present  strove ; 
At  Corticettfs  he  the  raffle  won; 
Then  first  his  passion  was  in  public  shown : 
HAZARDIA  blush'd,  and  turn'd  her  head  aside, 
A  rival's  envy  (all  in  vain)  to  hide. 
This  snuff-box — on  the  hinge  see  brilliants  shine : 
This  snuff-box  will  I  stake ;  the  prize  is  mine. 

CARDELIA. 

Alas  !  far  lesser  losses  than  I  bear, 
Have  made  a  soldier  sigh,  a  lover  swear. 
And  oh !  what  makes  the  disappointment  hard, 
'Twas  my  own  lord  that  drew  the  fatal  card. 


MISCELLANIES.  191 

In  complaisance,  I  took  the  queen  he  gave; 
Though  my  own  secret  wish  was  for  the  knave. 
The  knave  won  Sonica,  which  I  had  chose  j 
And  the  next  putt,  my  Septleva  I  lose. 

SMILINDA. 

But  ah  !  what  aggravates  the  killing  smart, 
The  cruel  thought,  that  stabs  me  to  the  heart  j 
This  cursed  OMBRELIA,  this  undoing  fair, 
By  whose  vile  arts  this  heavy  grief  I  bear ; 
She,  at  whose  name  I  shed  these  spiteful  tears, 
She  owes  to  me  the  very  charms  she  wears. 
An  awkward  thing,  when  first  she  came  to  town ; 
Her  shape  unfashion'd,  and  her  face  unknown : 
She  was  my  friend  :  I  taught  her  first  to  spread 
Upon  her  sallow  cheeks  enlivening  red : 
I  introduced  her  to  the  park  and  plays ; 
And  by  my  interests,  Cozens  made  her  stays. 
Ungrateful  wretch,  with  mimic  airs  grown  pert, 
She  dares  to  steal  my  fav'rite  lover's  heart. 

CARDELIA. 

Wretch  that  I  was,  how  often  have  I  swore, 
When  Winnall  tallied,  I  would  punt  no  morel 
I  knew  the  bite,  yet  to  my  ruin  run ; 
And  see  the  folly  which  I  cannot  shun. 


How  many  maids  have  SHARPER'S  vows  deceived  ? 
How  many  cursed  the  moment  they  believed  ? 
Yet  his  known  falsehoods  could  no  warning  prove : 
Ah  !  what  is  warning  to  a  maid  in  love  ? 


But  of  what  marble  must  that  breast  be  form'd, 
To  gaze  on  Basset,  and  remain  unwarm'd  ? 
When  kings,  queens,  knaves,  are  set  in  decent  rank; 
Exposed  in  glorious  heaps  the  tempting  bank, 
Guineas,  half-guineas,  all  the  shining  train, 
The  winner's  pleasure,  and  the  loser's  pain : 
In  bright  confusion  open  rouleaus  lie, 
They  strike  the  soul,  and  glitter  in  the  eye. 


1 92  MISCELLANIES. 

Fired  by  the  sight,  all  reason  I  disdain; 
My  passions  rise  and  will  not  bear  the  rein. 
Look  upon  Basset,  you  who  reason  boast, 
And  see  if  reason  must  not  there  be  lost. 


What  more  than  marble  must  that  heart  compose 
Can  hearken  coldly  to  my  SHARPER'S  vows  ? 
Then,  when  he  trembles  !  when  his  blushes  rise ! 
When  awful  love  seems  melting  in  his  eyes  ! 
With  eager  beats  his  Mechlin  cravat  moves : 
He  loves, — I  whisper  to  myself,  He  loves! 
Such  unfeign'd  passion  in  his  looks  appears, 
I  lose  all  memory  of  my  former  fears ; 
My  panting  heart  confesses  all  his  charms, 
I  yield  at  once,  and  sink  into  his  arms: 
Think  of  that  moment,  you  who  prudence  boast ; 
For  such  a  moment,  prudence  well  were  lost. 


At  the  Groom-Porter's,  batter'd  bullies  play, 
Some  DUKES  at  Mary-bone  bowl  time  away. 
But  who  the  bowl  or  rattling  dice  compares 
To  BasseCs  heavenly  joys  and  pleasing  cares  ? 

SMILTNDA. 

Soft  SIMPLICETTA  doats  upon  a  beau; 
PRUDINA  likes  a  man,  and  laughs  at  show. 
Their  several  graces  in  my  SHARPER  meet ; 
Strong  as  the  footman,  as  the  master  'sweet. 


Cease  your  contention,  which  has  been  too  long; 
I  grow  impatient,  and  the  tea's  too  strong. 
Attend  and  yield  to  what  I  now  decide ; 
The  equipage  shall  grace  SMILINDA'S  side ; 
The  snuff-box  to  CARDELIA  I  decree, 
Now  leave  complaining,  and  begin  your  tea. 


193 


VERBATIM  FEOM  BOILEATT. 

Un  jour,  dit  an  auteur,  etc. 

ONCE  (says  an  author,  where  I  need  not  say) 
Two  travellers  found  an  oyster  in  their  way  ; 
Both  fierce,  both  hungry;  the  dispute  grew  strong; 
While  scale  in  hand  dame  Justice  pass'd  along. 
Before  her  each  with  clamour  pleads  the  laws, 
Explain'd  the  matter,  and  would  win  the  cause. 


There  take  (says  Justice),  take  ye  each  a  sheU. 
We  thrive  at  Westminister  on  fools  like  you: 
Twas  a  fat  oyster  —  Live  in  peace-r—  Adieu. 


ANSWER  TO  THE  FOLLOWING  QUESTION 

OF  MRS.  HOW. 
WHAT  is  PRUDERY  ? 

Tis  a  beldam, 

Seen  with  wit  and  beauty  seldom. 
'Tis  a  fear  that  starts  at  shadows ; 
'Tis  (no  'tisn't)  like  Miss  Meadows. 
'Tis  a  virgin  hard  oi  feature, 
Old,  and  void  of  all  good-nature; 
Lean  and  fretful,  would  seem  wise ; 
Yet  plays  the  fool  before  she  dies. 
'Tis  an  ugly  envious  shrew, 
That  rails  at  dear  Lepett  and  you. 


OCCASIONED  BY  SOME  VERSES  OF  HIS  GEACE 
THE  DUKE  OF  BUCKINGHAM. 

MUSE,  'tis  enough :  at  length  thy  labour  ends, 
And  thou  shalt  live,  for  BUCKINGHAM  commends. 
Let  crowds  of  critics  now  my  verse  assail, 
Let  Dennis  write,  and  nameless  numbers  rail : 
This  more  than  pays  whole  years  of  thankless  pain, 
Time,  health,  and  fortune,  are  not  lost  in  vain. 
SHEFFIELD  approves,  consenting  Phoebus  bends, 
And  I  and  Malice  from  this  hour  are  friends. 
18* 


194 


A  PEOLOGUE 

TO  A  PLAT  FOR  MR.  DENNIS'S  BENEFIT  IN  1733,  WHEN  HB 
WAS  OLD,  BLIND,  AND  IN  GREAT  DISTRESS,  A  LITTLE 
BEFORE  HIS  DEATH. 

As  when  that  hero,  who  in  each  campaign, 
Had  braved  the  Goth,  and  many  a  Vandal  slain, 
Lay  fortune-struck,  a  spectacle  of  woe  ! 
Wept  by  each  friend,  forgiven  by  every  foe ; 
Was  there  a  generous,  a  reflecting  miiid, 
But  pitied  BELISARIUS  old  and  blind  ? 
Was  there  a  chief  but  melted  at  the  sight  ? 
A  common  soldier,  but  who  clubb'd  his  mite  ? 
Such,  such  emotions  should  in  Britons  rise, 
When  press'd  by  want  and  weakness  DENNIS  lies ; 
Dennis,  who  long  had  warr'd  with  modern  Huns, 
Their  quibbles  routed,  and  defied  their  puns; 
A  desperate  bulwark,  sturdy,  firm  and  fierce, 
Against  the  Gothic  sons  of  frozen  verse: 
How  changed  from  him  who  made  the  boxes  groan, 
And  shook  the  stage  with  thunders  all  his  own ! 
Stood  up  to  dash  each  vain  PRETENDER'S  hope, 
Maul  the  French  tyrant  or  pull  down  the  POPE  ! 
If  there's  a  Briton  then,  true  bred  and  born, 
Who  holds  dragoons  and  wooden  shoes  in  scorn; 
If  there's  a  critic  of  distinguish'd  rage ; 
If  there's  a  senior,  who  contemns  this  age; 


Let  him  to-night  his  just  assistance  lend, 
And  be  the  critic's,  Briton's 


iton's,  old  man's  friend. 


MACEE : 

A    CHARACTER. 

WHEN  simple  Macer,  now  of  high  renown, 
First  sought  a  poet's  fortune  in  the  town, 
'Twas  all  the  ambition  his  high  soul  could  feel, 
To  wear  red  stockings,  and  to  dine  with  Steele. 
Some  ends  of  verse  his  betters  might  afford, 
And  gave  the  harmless  fellow  a  good  word. 
Set  up  with  these,  he  ventured  on  the  town, 
And  with  a  borrow'd  play,  outdid  poor  Crown. 


MISCELLANIES.  195 

There  he  stopp'd  short,  nor  since  has  writ  a  tittle, 
But  has  the  wit  to  make  the  most  of  little : 
Like  stunted  hide-bound  trees,  that  just  have  got 
Sufficient  sap  at  once  to  bear  and  rot. 
Now  he  begs  verse,  and  what  he  gets  commends, 
Not  of  the  wits  his  foes,  but  fools  his  friends. 

So  some  coarse  country  wench,  almost  decay'd, 
Trudges  to  town,  and  first  turns  chambermaid ; 
Awkward  and  supple,  each  devoir  to  pay ; 
She  flatters  her  good  lady  twice  a  day ; 
Thought  wondrous  honest,  though  of  mean  degree, 
And  strangely  liked  for  her  simplicity: 
In  a  translated  suit,  then  tries  the  town, 
With  borrow'd  pins,  and  patches  not  her  own: 
But  just  endured  the  winter  she  began, 
And  in  four  months  a  batter'd  harridan. 
Now  nothing  left,  but  wither'd,  pale,  and  shrunk, 
To  bawd  for  others,  and  go  shares  with  Punk. 


TO  MR.  JOHN  MOORE, 

INVENTOR  OF  THE  CELEBRATED   W  OKSI-rOWDEB. 

How  much,  egregious  Moore,  are  we 

Deceived  by  shows  and  forms ! 
Whate'er  we  think,  whate'er  we  see 

All  humankind  are  worms. 

Man  is  a  very  worm  by  birth, 

Vile,  reptile,  weak,  and  vain  ! 
Awhile  he  crawls  upon  the  earth, 

Then  shrinks  to  earth  again. 

That  woman  is  a  worm,  we  find 

E'er  since  our  grandame's  evil ; 
She  first  conversed  with  her  own  kind, 

That  ancient  worm,  the  devil. 

The  learn'd  themselves  we  book-worms  name, 

The  blockhead  is  a  slow-worm ; 
The  nymph  whose  tail  is  all  on  flame 

Is  aptly  term'd  a  glow-worm, 
o  2 


196  MISCELLANIES. 

The  fops  are  painted  butterflies, 

That  flutter  for  a  day; 
First  from  a  worm  they  take  their  rise, 

And  in  a  worm  decay. 

The  flatterer  an  earwig  grows: 
Thus  worms  suit  all  conditions ; 

Misers  are  muck-worms,  silk-worms  beaua, 
And  death-watches  physicians. 

That  statesmen  have  the  worm,  is  seen 

By  all  their  winding  play ; 
Their  conscience  is  a  worm  within, 

That  gnaws  them  night  and  day. 

Ah  Moore  !  thy  skill  were  well  employ'd, 
And  greater  gain  would  rise, 

If  thou  couldst  make  the  courtier  void 
The  worm  that  never  dies ! 

O  learned  friend  of  Abchurch-lane, 
Who  sett'st  our  entrails  free ! 

Vain  is  thy  art,  thy  powder  vain, 
Since  worms  shall  eat  even  thee. 

Our  fate  thou  only  canst  adjourn 
Some  few  short  years,  no  more  ! 

Even  Button's  wits  to  worms  shall  turn, 
Who  maggots  were  before. 


SONG, 

BY    A    PERSON     OF     QUALITT. 
•WRITTEN   IN  THE   YEAR    1738. 

FLUTTERING  spread  thy  purple  pinions, 
Gentle  Cupid,  o'er  my  heart, 

I  a  slave  in  thy  dominions ; 
Nature  must  give  way  to  art. 

Mild  Arcadians,  ever  blooming, 
Nightly  nodding  o'er  your  flocks, 

Bee  my  weary  days  consuming, 
All  beneath  yon  flowery  rocks. 


MISCELLANIES.  197 


Thus  the  Cyprian  goddess  weeping, 
Mourn'd Adonis,  darling  youth: 

Him  the  boar,  in  silence  creeping, 
Gored  with  unrelenting  tooth. 

Cynthia,  tune  harmonious  numbers; 

Fair  Discretion,  string  the  lyre; 
Soothe  my  ever-waking  slumbers; 

Bright  Apollo,  lend  thy  choir. 

Gloomy  Pluto,  king  of  terrors, 
Arm'd  in  adamantine  chains, 

Lead  me  to  the  crystal  mirrors, 
Watering  soft  Elyslan  plains. 

Mournful  cypress,  verdant  willow, 
Gilding  my  Aurdia's  brows, 

Morpheus  hovering  o'er  my  pillow, 
Hear  me  pay  my  dying  vows. 

Melancholy  smooth  Mceander, 
Swiftly  purling  in  a  round, 

On  thy  margin  lovers  wander, 

With  thy  flowery  chaplets  crown'd. 

Thus  when  Philomela,  drooping, 
Softly  seeks  her  silent  mate, 

See  the  bird  of  Juno  stooping ; 
Melody  resigns  to  fate. 


ON  A  CERTAIN  LADY  AT  COURT. 

I  KNOW  the  thing  that's  most  uncommon ; 

(Envy  be  silent,  and  attend !) 
I  know  a  reasonable  woman, 

Handsome  and  witty,  yet  a  friend. 

Not  warp'd  by  passion,  awed  by  rumour, 
Not  grave  through  pride,  or  gay  through  folly, 

An  equal  mixture  of  good  humour 
And  sensible  soft  melancholy. 


198  MISCELLANIES. 

"  Has  she  no  faults  then,  (Envy  says)  Sir  ?" 
Yes,  she  has  one,  I  must  aver; 

When  all  the  world  conspires  to  praise  her, 
The  woman's  deaf,  and  does  not  hear. 


ON  HIS  GROTTO  AT  TWICKENHAM, 

COMPOSED  OF  MARBLES,  SPARS,  GEMS,  ORES,  AND  MINERALS. 

THOU  who  shalt  stop,  where  Thames'  translucent  wave 
Shines  a  broad  mirror  through  the  shadowy  cave; 
Where  lingering  drops  from  mineral  roofs  distil, 
And  pointed  crystals  break  the  sparkling  rill, 
Unpolish'd  gems  no  ray  on  pride  bestow, 
And  latent  metals  innocently  glow : 
Approach.    Great  NATURE  studiously  behold ! 
And  eye  the  mine  without  a  wish  for  gold. 
Approach :  but  awful!     Lo!  the  ^Egerian  grot, 
Where,  nobly  pensive,  ST.  JOHN  sate  and  thought ; 
Where  British  sighs  from  dying  WYNDHAM  stole. 
And  the  bright  flame  was  shot  through  MARCHMONT'S 
Let  such,  such  only,  tread  this  sacred  floor,          [soul. 
Who  dare  to  love  their  country,  and  be  poor. 


TO  ME.  GAY, 

WHO  CONGRATULATED  HIM  ON  FINISHING  HIS  HOUSE  AND 
GARDENS. 

AH,  friend!  'tis  true — this  truth  you  lovers  know — 
In  vain  my  structures  rise,  my  gardens  grow, 
In  vain  fair  Thames  reflects  the  double  scenes 
Of  hanging  mountains,  and  of  sloping  greens : 
Joy  lives  not  here,  to  happier  seats  it  flies, 
And  only  dwells  where  WORTLEY  casts  her  eyes. 

What  are  the  gay  parterre,  the  checquer'd  shade, 
The  morning  bower,  the  evening  colonnade, 
But  soft  recesses  of  uneasy  minds, 
To  sigh  unheard  in,  to  the  passing  winds  ? 
So  the  struck  deer  in  some  sequester'd  part 
Lies  down  to  die,  the  arrow  at  his  heart, 
He,  stretch'd  unseen  in  coverts  hid  from  day, 
Bleeds  drop  by  drop,  and  pants  his  life  away. 


199 
TO  MRS.  M.  B. 

ON    HER    BIRTH-DAT. 

OH  be  them  blest  with  all  that  Heaven  can  send. 
Long  health,  long  youth,  long  pleasure,  and  a  friend: 
Not  with  those  toys  the  female  world  admire, 
Riches  that  vex,  and  vanities  that  tire. 
With  added  years,  if  life  bring  nothing  new, 
But  like  a  sieve  let  every  blessing  through, 
Some  joys  still  lost,  as  each  vain  year  runs  o'er, 
And  all  we  gain,  some  sad  reflection  more; 
Is  that  a  birth-day  ?  'tis  alas !  too  clear, 
'Tis  but  the  funeral  of  the  former  year. 

Let  joy  or  ease,  let  affluence  or  content, 
And  the  gay  conscience  of  a  life  well  spent, 
Calm  every  thought,  inspirit  every  grace, 
Glow  in  thy  heart,  and  smile  upon  thy  face. 
Let  day  improve  on  day,  and  year  on  year, 
Without  a  pain,  a  trouble,  or  a  fear; 
Till  death  unfelt  that  tender  frame  destroy, 
In  some  soft  dream,  or  ecstacy  of  joy, 
Peaceful  sleep  out  the  sabbath  of  the  tomb, 
And  wake  to  raptures  in  a  life  to  come. 


TO  MR.  THOMAS  SOUTHERN, 

ON  HIS  BIRTH-DAT,   1742. 

RESIGNED  to  live,  prepared  to  die, 

With  not  one  sin,  but  poetry, 

This  day  TOM'S  fair  account  has  run 

(Without  a  blot)  to  eighty-one. 

Kind  Boyle,  before  his  poet  lays 

A  table,  with  a  cloth  of  bays ; 

And  Ireland,  mother  of  sweet  singers, 

Presents  her  harp  still  to  his  fingers. 

The  feast,  his  towering  genius  marks 

In  yonder  wild  goose  and  the  larks ! 

The  mushrooms  show  his  wit  was  sudden! 

And  for  his  judgment,  lo  a  pudden! 


200  MISCELLANIES. 


Boast  beef,  though  old,  proclaims  him  stout, 
And  grace,  although  a  bard,  devout. 
May  TOM,  whom  Heaven  sent  down  to  raise 
The  price  of  prologues  and  of  plays, 
Be  every  birth-day  more  a  winner, 
Digest  his  thirty-thousandth  dinner; 
Walk  to  his  grave  without  reproach, 
And  scorn  a  rascal  in  a  coach. 


EOXANA,  OE  THE  DEAWING-EOOM. 

AN  ECLOGUE. 


This  Eclogue  has  by  some  been  attributed  to  Lady  Mary 
Wortley  Montagu. 

EOXANA  from  the  court  returning  late, 
Sigh'd  her  soft  sorrow  at  St.  James's  gate : 
Such  heavy  thoughts  lay  brooding  in  her  breast; 
Not  her  own  chairmen  with  more  weight  opprest: 
They  curse  the  cruel  weight  they're  doom'd  to  bear; 
She  in  more  gentle  sounds  express'd  her  care. 

Was  it  for  this,  that  I  these  roses  wear? 
For  this, new-set  the  jewels  for  my  hair? 
Ah,  princess !  with  what  zeal  have  I  pursued  I 
Almost  forgot  the  duty  of  a  prude. 
This  king,  I  never  could  attend  too  soon; 
I  miss'd  my  prayers,  to  get  me  dress'd  by  noon. 
For  thee,  ah!  what  for  thee  did  I  resign? 
My  passions,  pleasures,  all  that  e'er  was  mine : 
I've  sacrificed  both  modesty  and  ease ; 
Left  operas,  and  went  to  filthy  plays: 
Double-entendres  shock'd  my  tender  ear; 
Yet  even  this,  for  thee,  I  choose  to  bear: 
In  glowing  youth,  when  nature  bids  be  gay,     ^ 
And  every  joy  of  life  before  me  lay; 
By  honour  prompted,  and  by  pride  restrain'd, 
The  pleasures  of  the  young  my  soul  disdain'd: 
Sermons  I  sought,  and  with  a  mien  severe, 
Censured  my  neighbours,  and  said  daily  prayer. 


MISCELLANIES.  201 

Alas,  how  changed !  with  this  same  sermon-mien, 

The  filthy  what-d'ye-call  it — I  have  seen. 

Ah,  royal  princess !  for  whose  sake  I  lost 

The  reputation,  which  so  dear  had  cost; 

I,  who  avoided  every  public  place, 

When  bloom  and  beauty  bid  me  show  my  face, 

Now  near  thee,  constant,  I  each  night  abide, 

With  never-failing  duty  by  my  side ; 

Myself  and  daughters  standing  in  a  row, 

To  all  the  foreigners  a  goodly  show. 

Oft  had  your  drawing-room  been  sadly  thin, 

And  merchants'  wives  close  by  your  side  had  been; 

Had  I  not  amply  fill'd  the  empty  place, 

And  saved  your  highness  from  the  dire  disgrace: 

Yet  Cockatilla's  artifice  prevails, 

When  all  my  duty  and  my  merit  fails: 

That  Cockatilla,  whose  deluding  airs 

Corrupts  our  virgins,  and  our  youth  ensnares; 

So  sunk  her  character,  and  lost  her  fame, 

Scarce  visited,  before  your  highness  came ; 

Yet  for  the  bed-chamber  'tis  she  you  choose, 

Whilst  zeal,  and  fame,  and  virtue  you  refuse. 

Ah  worthy  choice ;  not  one  of  all  your  train, 

Which  censures  blast  not,  or  dishonours  stain. 

I  know  the  court,  with  all  its  treacherous  wiles, 

The  false  caresses,  and  undoing  smiles. 

Ah,  princess!  learn'd  in  all  the  courtly  arts, 

To  cheat  our  hopes,  and  yet  to  gain  our  hearts. 


EXTEMPORANEOUS  LINES, 

ON  THE  PICTURE  OF  LADY  MARY  W.  MONTAGU  BY  KNELLEB. 

THE  playful  smiles  around  the  dimpled  mouth, 
That  happy  air  of  majesty  and  truth ; 
So  would  I  draw  (but  oh !  'tis  vain  to  try, 
My  narrow  genius  does  the  power  deny) 
The  equal  lustre  of  the  heavenly  mind, 
Where  every  grace  with  every  virtue 's  join'd ; 
Learning  not  vain,  and  wisdom  not  severe, 
With  greatness  easy,  and  with  wit  sincere ; 
With  just  description  show  the  work  divine, 
And  the  whole  princess  in  my  work  should  shine. 
19 


202  MISCELLANIES. 


TO  LADY  MAEY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 

i. 

IN  beauty,  or  wit, 

No  mortal  as  yet 
To  question  your  empire  has  dared ; 

But  men  of  discerning 

Have  thought  that  in  learning, 
To  yield  to  a  lady  was  hard. 


Impertinent  schools, 

With  musty  dull  rules, 
Have  reading  to  females  denied; 

So  papists  refuse 

The  Bible  to  use, 
Lest  flocks  should  be  wise  as  their  guide. 


'Twas  a  woman  at  first 
(Indeed  she  was  curst) 

In  knowledge  that  tasted  delight, 
And  sages  agree 
The  laws  should  decree 

To  the  first  possessor  the  right. 


Then  bravely,  fair  dame, 
Eesume  the  old  claim, 

Which  to  your  whole  sex  does  belong; 
And  let  men  receive, 
From  a  second  bright  Eve, 

The  knowledge  of  right  and  of  wrong. 


But  if  the  first  Eve 
Hard  doom  did  receive, 

When  only  one  apple  had  she, 
What  punishment  new 
Shall  be  found  out  for  you, 

Who  tasting,  have  robb'd  the  whole  tree? 


THE  LOOKING-GLASS. 

ON  MRS.  PULTENEY. 

WITH  scornful  mien,  and  various  toss  of  air, 

Fantastic,  vain,  and  insolently  fair, 

Grandeur  intoxicates  her  giddy  brain, 

She  looks  ambition,  and  she  moves  disdain. 

Far  other  carriage  graced^her  virgin  life, 

But  charming  Gumley's  lost  in  Pulteney's  wife. 

Not  greater  arrogance  in  him  we  find, 

And  this  conjunction  swells  at  least  her  mind: 

O  could  the  sire,  renowned  in  glass,  produce 

One  faithful  mirror  for  his  daughter's  use ! 

Wherein  she  might  her  haughty  errors  trace, 

And  by  reflection  learn  to  mend  her  face : 

The  wonted  sweetness  to  her  form  restore, 

Be  what  she  was,  and  charm  mankind  once  more! 


A  FAEEWELL  TO  LONDON. 

IN  THE  TEAR  1715. 

DEAR,  damn'd,  distracting  town,  farewell! 

Thy  fools  no  more  I'll  tease: 
This  year  in  peace,  ye  critics,  dwell, 

Ye  harlots,  sleep  at  ease ! 

To  drink  and  droll  be  Howe  allow'd 
Till  the  third  watchman's  toll; 

Let  Jervas  gratis  paint,  and  Frowde 
Save  three-pence  and  his  soul. 

Farewell,  Arbuthnot's  raillery 

On  every  learned  sot; 
And  Garth,  the  best  good  Christian  he, 

Although  he  knows  it  not. 

Lintot,  farewell!  thy  bard  must  go ; 

Farewell,  unhappy  Tonson! 
Heaven  gives  thee  for  thy  loss  of  Howe, 

Lean  Philips,  and  fat  Johnson. 


204  MISCELLANIES. 

Why  should  I  stay?    Both  parties  rage; 

My  vixen  mistress  squalls ; 
The  wits  in  envious  feuds  engage : 
And  Homer  (damn  him!)  calls. 

The  love  of  arts  lies  cold  and  dead 

In  Halifax's  urn ; 
And  not  one  muse  of  all  he  fed 

Has  yet  the  grace  to  mourn. 

My  friends,  by  turns,  my  friends  confound, 

Betray,  and  are  betray'd : 
Poor  Y rs  sold  for  fifty  pounds, 

AndB 11  is  a  jade. 

Why  make  I  friendships  with  the  great, 
When  I  no  favour  seek? 


Still  idle,  with  a  busy  air, 

Deep  whimsies  to  contrive; 

The  gayest  valetudinaire, 

Most  thinking  rake  alive. 

Solicitous  for  other  ends, 

Though  fond  of  dear  repose; 

Careless  or  drowsy  with  my  friends, 
And  frolic  with  my  foes. 

Luxurious  lobster-nights,  farewell, 
For  sober,  studious  days! 

And  Burlington's  delicious  meal, 
For  salads,  tarts,  and  pease! 

Adieu  to  all  but  Gay  alone, 

Whose  soul,  sincere  and  free, 

Loves  all  mankind,  but  natters 
And  so  may  starve  with  me. 


205 


THE  FOLLOWING  LINES  WERE  SUNG  BY 
DURASTANTI,  WHEN  SHE  TOOK  HER  LEAVE 
OF  THE  ENGLISH  STAGE. 

THE  WORDS  WERE  IN    HASTE   PUT  TOGETHER  BY   MR.   POPE,  AT  TSX 
REQUEST  OF  THE  EARL  OF  PETERBOROUGH. 

GENEROUS,  gay,  and  gallant  nation, 
Bold  in  arms,  and  bright  in  arts  j 

Land  secure  from  all  invasion, 
All  but  Cupid's  gentle  darts! 

From  your  charms,  oh  who  would  run? 

Who  would  leave  you  for  the  sun  1 

Happy  soil,  adieu,  adieu ! 
Let  old  charmers  yield  to  new. 

In  arms,  in  arts,  be  still  more  shining; 
All  your  joys  be  still  increasing ; 

All  your  tastes  be  still  refining; 
All  your  jars  for  ever  ceasing : 

But  let  old  charmers  yield  to  new: — 

Happy  soil,  adieu,  adieu! 


UPON  THE  DUKE  OF  MARLBOROUGH'S  HOUSE 
AT  WOODSTOCK. 


Atria  longa  patent;  Bed  nee  coenantibus  usquam. 
Nee  soinno  locus  est :  quam  bene  non  babitas  1 

MART.  Epig. 

SEE,  sir,  here's  the  grand  approach, 
This  way  is  for  his  Grace's  coach ; 
There  lies  the  bridge,  and  here's  the  clock, 
Observe  the  lion  and  the  cock, 
The  spacious  court,  the  colonnade, 
And  mark  how  wide  the  hall  is  made ! 
The  chimneys  are  so  well  desigu'd, 
They  never  smoke  in  any  wind. 
This  gallery's  contrived  for  walking, 
The  windows  to  retire  and  talk  inj 
The  council-chamber  for  debate, 
And  all  the  rest  are  rooms  of  state. 
19* 


206  MISCELLANIES. 

Thanks,  sir,  cried  I,  'tis  very  fine, 
But  where  d'ye  sleep,  or  where  d'ye  dine 
I  find  by  all  you  have  been  telling, 
That  'tis  a  house,  but  not  a  dwelling. 


VERSES  LEFT  BY  MR.  POPE, 

OK  HIS  LYING  IN  THE  SAME  BED  WHICH  WILMOT,  THE  CELE- 
BRATED EARL  OF  ROCHESTER,  SLEPT  IK,  AT  ADDERIiURY, 
THEN  BELONGING  TO  THE  DUKE  OF  ARGYLE,  JULY  9,  1739. 

WITH  no  poetic  ardour  fired 

I  press  the  bed  where  Wilmot  lay ; 

That  here  he  loved,  or  here  expired, 
Begets  no  numbers,  grave  or  gay. 

Beneath  thy  roof,  Argyle,  are  bred 

Such  thoughts  as  prompt  the  brave  to  lie 

Stretch'd  out  in  honour's  nobler  bed, 
Beneath  a  nobler  roof— the  sky. 

Such  flames  as  high  in  patriots  burn 
Yet  stoop  to  bless  a  child  or  wife; 
.And  such  as  wicked  kings  may  mourn, 
When  freedom  is  more  dear  than  life. 


THE   CHALLENGE. 

A  COURT  BALLAD. 
To  the  tune  of"  To  all  you  ladies  now  at  land,"  &o> 

I. 
To  one  fair  lady  out  of  court, 

And  two  fair  ladies  in, 
Who  think  the  Turk  and  Pope  a  sport, 

And  wit  and  love  no  sin ; 
Come,  these  soft  lines,  with  nothing  stiff  in, 
To  Bellenden,  Lepell,  and  Griffin, 
With  a  fa,  la,  la. 


MISCELLANIES.  207 


II. 

"What  passes  in  the  dark  third  row, 
And  what  behind  the  scene, 

Couches  and  crippled  chairs  I  know, 
And  garrets  hung  with  green; 

I  know  the  swing  of  sinful  hack, 

Where  many  damsels  cry  alack. 
With  a  fa,  1*,  la. 


Then  why  to  courts  should  I  repair, 
Where's  such  ado  with  Townshendl 

To  hear  each  mortal  stamp  and  swear, 
And  every  speech  with  zounds  end; 

To  hear  'em  rail  at  honest  Sunderland, 

And  rashly  blame  the  realm  of  Blunderland. 


hly  blame  the  rea 
With  a  fa,  la,  la. 


rv. 
Alas!  like  Schutz  I  cannot  pun, 

Like  *rafton  court  the  Germans; 
Tell  Pickenbourg  how  slim  she's  grown, 

Like  Meadows  run  to  sermons ; 
To  court  ambitious  men  may  roam, 
But  I  and  Marlbro'  stay  at  home. 
With  a  fa,  la,  la. 


In  truth,  by  what  I  can  discern, 
Of  courtiers  'twixt  you  three, 

Some  wit  you  have,  and  more  may  learn 
From  court,  than  Gay  or  me: 

Perhaps,  in  tune,  you'll  leave  high  diet, 

To  sup  with  us  on  milk  and  quiet. 
With  a  fa,  la,  la. 

VI. 

At  Leicester-Fields,  a  house  full  high, 
With  door  all  painffti  green, 

Where  ribbons  wave  upon  the  tie, 
(A  milliner  I  mean ;) 

There  may  you  meet  us  three  to  three, 

For  Gay  can  well  make  two  of  me. 
With  a  fa,  la,  la. 


208 


MISCELLANIES. 


But  should  you  catch  the  prudish  itch, 
And  each  become  a  coward, 

Bring  sometimes  with  you  Lady  Rich, 
And  sometimes  Mistress  Howard  j 

For  virgins,  to  keep  chaste,  must  go 

Abroad  with  such  as  are  not  so. 
With  a  fa,  la,  la. 


And  thus,  fair  maids,  my  ballad  ends: 
God  send  the  king  safe  landing; 

And  make  all  honest  ladies  friends 
To  armies  that  are  standing ; 

Preserve  the  limits  of  those  nations, 

And  take  off  ladies'  limitations. 
With  a  fa,  la,  la. 


THE  THREE  GENTLE  SHEPHERDS. 

OF  gentle  Philips  will  I  ever  sing, 

With  gentle  Philips  shall  the  valleys  ring; 

My  numbers  too  for  ever  will  I  vary, 

With  gentle  Budgell,  and  with  gentle  Carey. 

Or  if  in  ranging  of  the  names  I  judge  ill, 

With  gentle  Carey  and  with  gentle  Budgell: 

Oh !  may  all  gentle  bards  together  place  ye, 

Men  of  good  hearts,  and  men  of  delicacy. 

May  satire  ne'er  befool  ye,  or  beknave  ye, 

And  from  all  wits  that  have  a  knack,  God  save  ye. 


VERSES  TO^DR.  BOLTON, 

IN   THE   NAME   OF   MRS.  BUTLEIl's   SPIRIT,  LATELY  DECEASED. 

STRIPP'D  to  the  naked  soul,  escaped  from  clay, 
From  doubts  unfetter'd,  and  dissolved  in  day; 
TJnwarm'd  by  vanity,  uiireach'd  by  .strife, 
And  all  my  hopes  and  fears  thrown  off  with  life  ; 


EPITAPHS.  209 

Why  am  I  charm'd  by  friendship's  fond  essays, 
And  though  unbodied,  conscious  of  thy  praise  ? 
Has  pride  a  portion  in  the  parted  soul  ? 
Does  passion  still  the  firmless  mind  control ! 
Can  gratitude  out-pant  the  silent  breath  ! 
Or  a  friend's  sorrow  pierce  the  gloom  of  death! 
No— 'tis  a  spirit's  nobler  task  of  bliss ; 
That  feels  the  worth  it  left,  in  proofs  like  this; 
That  not  its  own  applause,  but  thine  approves, 
Whose  practice  praises,  and  whose  virtue  loves ; 
Who  livest  to  crown  departed  friends  with  fame ; 
Then  dying,  late,  shalt  all  thou  gavest  reclaim. 


EPITAPHS. 


His  saltern  acumulem  donia,  et  fungar  inanl 
Muncre  1  Vi&O. 


I. 
ON  CHAELES  EARL  OF  DOESET, 

IN  THE  CHURCH  OF  WlfHTAM  IK  SUSSEX. 

DOKSET,  the  grace  of  courts,  the  Muses'  pride, 

Patron  of  arts,  and  judge  of  nature,  died. 

The  scourge  of  pride,  though  sanctified  or  great, 

Of  fops  in  learning,  and  of  knaves  in  state ; 

Yet  soft  his  nature,  though  severe  his  lay, 

His  anger  moral,  and  his  wisdom  gay. 

Blest  satirist !  who  touch'd  the  mean  so  true, 

As  showed  vice  had  his  hate  and  pity  too. 

Blest  courtier !  who  could  king  and  country  please, 

Yet  sacred  keep  his  friendships  and  his  ease. 

Blest  peer  !  his  great  forefathers'  every  grace 

Reflecting,  and  reflected  in  his  race ; 

Where  other  BUCKHURSTS,  other  DOBSETS  shine, 

And  patriots  still,  or  poets,  deck  the  line. 


210 


ON  SIR  WILLIAM  TRUMBAL, 

OKE  OF  THE  PRINCIPAL  SECRETARIES  OF  STATE  TO  KINO 
WILLIAM  III.,  WHO  HAVING  RESIGNED  HIS  PLACE,  DIED  IW 
HIS  RETIREMENT  AT  EASTHAMSTED,  IN  BERKSHIRE,  1716. 

A  PLEASING  form ;  a  firm,  yet  cautious  mind ; 

Sincere,  though  prudent;  constant,  yet  resign'd: 

Honour  unchanged,  a  principle  profest, 

Fix'd  to  one  side,  but  moderate  to  the  rest: 

An  honest  courtier,  yet  a  patriot  too ; 

Just  to  his  prince,  and  to  his  country  true: 

Fill'd  with  the  sense  of  age,  the  fire  of  youth, 

A  scorn  of  wrtegling,  yet  a  zeal  for  truth: 

A  generous  faith,  from  superstition  free ; 

A  love  to  peace,  and  hate  of  tyranny : 

Such  this  man  was ;  who  now,  from  earth  removed, 

At  length  enjoys  that  liberty  he  loved. 


ON  GENERAL  HENRY  WITHERS, 

IN  WESTMINSTER-ABBEY,  1729. 

HERE,  WITHERS,  rest !  thou  bravest,  gentlest  mind, 

Thy  country's  friend,  but  more  of  human  kind. 

O  born  to  arms !  O  worth  in  youth  approved  1 

O  soft  humanity,  in  age  beloved  ! 

For  thee  the  hardy  veteran  drops  a  tear, 

And  the  gay  courtier  feels  the  sigh  sincere. 

WITHERS,  adieu !  yet  not  with  thee  remove 
Thy  martial  spirit,  or  thy  social  love  ! 
Amidst  corruption,  luxury,  and  rage, 
Still  leave  some  ancient  virtues  to  our  age: 
Nor  let  us  say  (those  English  glories  gone) 
The  last  true  Briton  lies  beneath  this  stone. 


EPITAPH^  211 


IV. 

ON  JAMES  CBAGGS,  ESQ. 

IN   WESTMINSTER-ABBEY. 

STATESMAN,  yet  friend  to  truth !  of  soul  sincere, 

In  action  faithful,  and  in  honour  clear ! 

Who  broke  no  promise,  served  no  private  end, 

"Who  gain'd  no  title,  and  who  lost  no  friend ; 

Ennobled  by  himself,  by  all  approved, 

Praised,  wept,  and  honour'd,  by  the  muse  he  loved. 


v. 
INTENDED  FOE  ME.  EOWE, 

IN   WESTMINSTER-ABBEY. 

THY  reliques,  EOWE,  to  this  fair  urn  we  trust, 
And  sacred,  place  by  DRYDEN'S  awful  dust: 
Beneath  a  rude  and  nameless  stone  he  lies, 
To  which  thy  tomb  shall  guide  inquiring  eyes. 
Peace  to  thy  gentle  shade,  and  endless  rest ! 
Blest  in  thy  genius,  in  thy  love  too  blest ! 
One  grateful  woman  to  thy  fame  supplies 
What  a  whole  thankless  land  to  his  denies. 


ON  MES.  COEBET, 

WHO   DIED   OF   A   CANCER  IN   HER  BREAST. 

HERE  rests  a  woman,  good  without  pretence, 
Blest  with  plain  reason,  and  with  sober  sense ; 
No  conquest  she,  but  o'er  herself,  desired, 
No  arts  essay 'd,  but  not  to  be  admired. 
Passion  and  pride  were  to  her  soul  unknown, 
Convinced  that  virtue  only  is  our  own. 
So  unaffected,  so  composed  a  mind ; 
So  firm,  yet  soft ;  so  strong,  yet  so  refined ; 
Heaven,  as  its  purest  gold,  by  tortures  tried ! 
The  saint  sustain'd  it, — but  the  woman  died. 


212  EPITAPHS. 


ON  THE  MONUMENT   OF   THE  HONOURABLE 
EGBERT  DIGBY,  AND  OF  HIS  SISTER  MARY, 

ERECTED  BY  THEIR  FATHER,  THE  LORD   DIGBY,  IN   THB 
CHURCH   OF   SHERBORNE,   IN   DORSETSHIRE,   1727. 

Go  !  fair  example  of  untainted  youth, 

Of  modest  wisdom,  and  pacific  truth : 

Composed  in  sufferings,  and  in  joy  sedate, 

Good  without  noise,  without  pretension  great. 

Just  of  thy  word,  in  every  thought  sincere, 

Who  knew  no  wish  but  what  the  world  might  hear : 

Of  softest  manners,  unaffected  mind, 

Lover  of  peace,  and  friend  of  human  kind  : 

Go  live  !  for  Heaven's  eternal  year  is  thine, 

Go,  and  exalt  thy  mortal  to  divine. 

And  thou,  blest  maid !  attendant  on  his  doom, 
Pensive  hast  follow'd  to  the  silent  tomb, 
Steer'd  the  same  course  to  the  same  quiet  shore, 
Not  parted  long,  and  now  to  part  no  more ! 
Go  then,  where  only  bliss  sincere  is  known ! 
Go,  where  to  love  and  to  enjoy  are  one  ! 

Yet  take  these  tears,  mortality's  relief, 
And  till  we  share  your  joys,  forgive  our  grief: 
These  little  rites,  a  stone,  a  verse,  receive; 
'Tis  aU  a  father,  all  a  friend  can  give ! 


ON  SIR  GODFREY  KNELLER, 

IN  WESTMINSTER-ABBEY,   1723. 

KNELLER,  by  Heaven  and  not  a  master  taught, 
"Whose  art  was  nature,  and  whose  pictures  thought; 
Now  for  two  ages  having  snatch'd  from  fate 
Whate'er  was  beauteous,  or  whate'er  was  great, 
Lies  crown'd  with  princes'  honours,  poets'  lays, 
Due  to  his  merit,  and  brave  thirst  of  praise. 

Living,  great  Nature  feared  he  might  outvie 
Her  works  ;  and,  dying,  fears  herself  may  die. 


EPITAPHS.  213 

IX. 

ON  THE  HON.  SIMON  HARCOURT, 

ONLY  SON    OF  THE  LORD   CHANCELLOR  HARCOURT  ;    AT  THB 
CHURCH   OF  STANTON-HARCOURT   IN   OXFORDSHIRE,   1720. 

To  this  sad  shrine,  whoe'er  thou  art !  draw  near, 
Here  lies  the  friend  most  loved,  the  son  most  dear : 
Who  ne'er  knew  joy,  but  friendship  might  divide, 
Or  gave  his  father  grief  but  when  he  died. 

How  vain  is  reason,  eloquence  how  weak ! 
If  Pope  must  tell  what  HARCOURT  cannot  speak, 
Oh  let  thy  once-loved  friend  inscribe  thy  stone, 
And,  with  a  lather's  sorrows,  mix  his  own  ! 


ON  EDMUND  DUKE  OF  BUCKINGHAM, 

WHO   DIED  IN  THE   NINETEENTH   TEAR  OF  HIS  AGE,  1735. 

IF  modest  youth,  with  cool  reflection  crown'd, 
And  every  opening  virtue  blooming  round, 
Could  save  a  parent's  justest  pride  from  fate, 
Or  add  one  patriot  to  a  sinking  state ; 
This  weeping  marble  had  not  ask'd  thy  tear, 
Or  sadly  told,  how  many  hopes  lie  here !  ' 
The  living  virtue  now  had  shone  approved, 
The  senate  heard  him,  and  his  country  loved. 
Yet  softer  honours  and  less  noisy  fame 
Attend  the  shade  of  gentle  BUCKINGHAM: 
In  whom  a  race,  for  courage  famed  and  art, 
Ends  in  a  milder  merit  of  the  heart ; 
And  chiefs  or  sages  long  to  Britain  given, 
Pays  the  last  tribute  of  a  saint  to  heaven. 


FOE  ONE  WHO  WOULD  NOT  BE  BURIED  IN 
WESTMINSTER-AB  BEY. 

HEROES  and  KINGS  !  your  distance  keep : 
In  peace  let  one  poor  poet  sleep, 
Who  never  flatter'd  folks  like  you : 
Let  Horace  blush,  and  Virgil  too. 
20 


2U 


ON  ME.  ELIJAH  FENTON, 

AT  EASTHAMSTED  IN  BERKS,  1730. 

THIS  modest  stone,  what  few  vain  marbles  can, 

May  truly  say, — Here  lies  an  honest  man : 

A  poet,  blest  beyond  the  poet's  fate, 

Whom  Heaven  kept  sacred  from  the  proud  and  great: 

Foe  to  loud  praise,  and  friend  to  learned  ease, 

Content  with  science  in  the  vale  of  peace. 

Calmly  he  look'd  on  either  life,  and  here 

Saw  nothing  to  regret,  or  there  to  fear ; 

From  nature's  temperate  feast  rose  satisfied, 

Thank'd  Heaven  that  he  had  lived,  and  that  he  died. 


ON  ME.  GAY, 

IN  WESTMINSTER-ABBEY,   1732. 

OF  manners  gentle,  of  affections  mild ; 
In  wit,  a  man ;  simplicity,  a  child : 
With  native  humour  tempering  virtuous  rage, 
Form'd  to  delight  at  once  and  lash  the  age. 
Above  temptation,  in  a  low  estate, 
And  uncorrupted  even  among  the  great : 
A  safe  -companion,  and  an  easy  friend, 
Unblamed  through  life,  lamented  in  thy  end. 
These  are  thy  honours  !  not  that  here  thy  bust 
Is  mix'd  witn  heroes,  or  with  kings  thy  dust ; 
But  that  the  worthy  and  the  good  shall  say, 
Striking  their  pensive  bosoms — Here  lies  GAT. 

XIV. 

INTENDED  FOE  SIE  ISAAC  NEWTON, 

IN    WESTMINSTER-ABBEY. 
ISAACUS  NEWTONUS: 

Quern  Immortalem 
Testantur  Tempus,  Natura,  Ccelum: 

Mortalem 

Hoc  marmor  fatetur. 

Nature  and  Nature's  laws  lay  hid  in  night: 
GOD  said,  Let  Newton  be  !  and  all  was  light. 


215 


xv. 
ON  DR.  FRANCIS  ATTERBURY, 

BISHOP  OF  ROCHESTER, 

WHO  DIED  IN  EXILE  AT  PARIS,  1732,  (HIS  ONLY  DAUGHTER  HAVING 
EXPIRED  IN  HIS  ARMS,  IMMEDIATELY  ATER  SHE  ARRIVED  IN  FRANCE 
TO  SEE  HIM.) 

DIALOGUE. 


YES,  we  have  lived — one  pang,  and  then  we  part ! 
May  Heaven,  dear  father  !  now  have  all  thy  heart 
Yet  ah  !  how  once  we  loved,  remember  still, 
Till  you  are  dust  like  me. 

HE. 

Dear  shade!  Twill: 

Then  mix  this  dust  with  thine — O  spotless  ghost ! 
O  more  than  fortune,  friends,  or  country  lost ! 
Is  there  on  earth  one  care,  one  wish  beside  ? 
Yes — SAVE  MY  COUNTRY,  HEAVEN, 

—He  said,  and  died. 


XVI. 

ON  HIMSELF. 

UNDER  this  marble,  or  under  this  sill, 
Or  under  this  turf,  or  e'en  what  they  will ; 
Whatever  an  heir,  or  a  friend  in  his  stead, 
Or  any  good  creature  shall  lay  o'er  my  head, 
Lies  one  who  ne'er  cared,  and  still  cares  not  a  pin 
What  they  said,  or  may  say,  of  the  mortal  within : 
But,  who  living  and  dying,  serene  still  and  free, 
Trusts  in  GOD,  that  as  well  as  he  was,  he  shall  be. 


21G 


AN   ESSAY   ON    MAN. 

IN  FOUR  EPISTLES. 


TO  H.  ST.  JOHN,  LORD  BOLINGBEOKE. 


THE  DESIGN. 

HATING  proposed  to  write  some  pieces  on  Human  Life  and  Manners, 
such  as  (to  use  my  Lord  Bacon's  expression)  come  home  to  men's  businesi 
and  bosoms,  I  thought  it  more  satisfactory  to  begin  with  considering  Man 
in  the  abstract,  his  nature  and  his  state  ;  since,  to  prove  any  moral  duty, 
to  enforce  any  moral  precept,  or  to  examine  the  perfection  or  imper- 
fection of  any  creature  whatsoever,  it  is  necessary  first  to  know  what 
condition  and  relation  it  is  placed  in,  and  what  is  the  proper  end  and 
purpose  of  its  being, 

The  science  of  human  nature  is,  like  all  other  sciences,  reduced  to  a 
few  clear  points;  there  are  not  many  certain  truths  in  this  world.  It  is 
therefore  in  the  anatomy  of  the  mind  as  in  that  of  the  body ;  more 
good  will  accrue  to  mankind,  by  attending  to  the  large,  open,  and  per- 
ceptible parts,  than  by  studying  too  much  such  finer  nerves  and  vessels, 
the  conformations  and  uses  of  which  will  for  ever  escape  our  observa- 
tion. The  disputes  are  all  upon  these  last,  and,  I  will  venture  to  say, 
they  have  less  sharpened  the  wit*  than  the  hearts  of  men  against  each 
other,  and  have  diminished  the  practice,  more  than  advanced  the  theory, 
Of  morality.  If  I  could  natter  myself  that  this  Essay  has  any  merit,  it 
is  in  steering  betwixt  the  extremes  of  doctrines  seemingly  opposite,  in 
passing  over  terms  utterly  unintelligible,  and  in  forming  a  temperate, 
yet  not  inconsistent,  and  a  short,  yet  not  imperfect,  system  of  ethics. 

This  I  might  have  done  in  prose,  but  I  chose  verse,  and  even  rhyme, 
for  two  reasons.  The  one  will  appear  obvious;  that  principles,  maxims, 
or  precepts,  so  written,  both  strike  the  reader  more  strongly  at  first, 
and  are  more  easily  retained  by  him  afterwards :  the  other  may  seem 
odd,  but  is  true.  I  found  I  could  express  them  more  shortly  this  way 
than  in  prose  itself ;  and  nothing  is  more  certain,  than  that  much  of 
the  force  as  well  as  grace  of  arguments  or  instructions  depends  on  their 
conciseness.  I  was  unable  to  treat  this  part  of  my  subject  more  in 
detail,  without  becoming  dry  and  tedious ;  or  more  poetically,  without 
sacrificing  perspicuity  to  ornament,  without  wandering  from  the  preci- 
sion, or  breaking  the  chain  of  reasoning :  if  any  man  can  unite  all 
these  without  diminution  of  any  of  them,  I  freely  confess  he  will 
compass  a  thing  above  my  capacity. 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN.  217 

What  is  now  published,  is  only  to  be  considered  as  a  general  map  of 
MAN,  marking  out  no  more  than  the  greater  parts,  their  extent,  their 
limits,  and  their  connexion,  but  leaving  the  particular  to  be  more  fully 
delineated  in  the  charts  which  are  now  to  follow.  Consequently  these 
Epistles  in  their  progress  (if  I  have  health  and  leisure  to  make  any  pro- 
gress) will  be  less  dry,  and  more  susceptible  of  poetical  ornament.  I 
am  here  only  opening  the  fountains,  and  clearing  the  passage.  To 
deduce  the  riven,  to  follow  them  in  their  course,  and  to  observe  their 
effects,  may  be  a  task  more  agreeable. 


EPISTLE   I. 


ARGUMENT. 

OF  THE  NATURE  AND   STATE  OF  MAN,  WITH  RESPECT  TO 
THE  UNIVERSE. 

Of  Man  in  the  abstract. — I.  That  we  can  judge  only  with  regard  to 
our  own  tyitem,  being  ignorant  of  the  relation!  of  systems  and  things. 
II.  That  man  is  not  to  be  deemed  imperfect,  but  a  being  suited  to  his 
place  and  rank  in  the  creation,  agreeable  to  the  general  order  of  things, 
and  conformable  to  ends  and  relation*  to  him  unknown.  III.  That  it  is 
partly  upon  his  ignorance  of  future  events,  and  partly  upon  the  hope  of 
&  future  state,  that  all  his  happiness  in  the  present  depends.  IV.  The 
pride  of  aiming  at  more  knowledge,  and  pretending  to  more  perfection, 
the  cause  of  man's  error  and  misery.  The  impiety  of  putting  himself  in 
the  place  of  God,  and  judging  of  the  fitness  or  unfitness,  perfection  or 
imperfection,  justice  or  injustice,  of  his  dispensations.  V.  The  abturdity 
of  conceiting  himself  the  final  cause  of  the  creation,  or  expecting  that 
perfection  in  the  moral  world,  which  is  not  in  the  natural.  VI.  The 
unreasonableness  of  his  complaints  against  Providence,  while  on  the  one 
band  he  demands  the  perfections  of  the  angels,  and  on  the  other  the 
bodily  qualifications  of  the  brutes ;  though  to  possess  any  of  the  temi- 
tive  faculUe*  in  a  higher  degree  would  render  him  miserable.  VII.  That, 
throughout  the  whole  visible  world,  a  universal  order  and  gradation  in 
the  sensual  and  mental  faculties  is  observed,  which  causes  a  tubordina- 
tion  of  creature  to  creature,  and  of  all  creatures  to  Man.  The  gra- 
dations of  sense,  instinct,  thought,  reflection,  reason;  that  reason  alone 
countervails  all  the  other  faculties.  VIII.  How  much  further  this 
order  and  subordination  of  living  creatures  may  extend,  above  and 
below  us ;  were  any  part  of  which  broken,  not  that  part  only,  but  the 
whole  connected  creation  must  be  destroyed.  IX.  The  extravagance, 
madness,  and  pride  of  such  a  desire.  X.  The  consequence  of  all  the 
absolute  submission  due  to  Providence,  both  as  to  our  present  aud  future 


20* 


218  AN   ESSAY   ON   MAN. 

AWAKE,  my  ST.  JOHN  !  leave  all  meaner  things 

To  low  ambition,  and  the  pride  of  kings. 

Let  us  (since  life  can  little  more  supply 

Than  just  to  look  about  us  and  to  die) 

Expatiate  free  o'er  all  this  scene  of  man ; 

A  mighty  maze  !  but  not  without  a  plan ; 

A  wild,  where  weeds  and  flowers  promiscuous  shoot, 

Or  garden  tempting  with  forbidden  fruit. 

Together  let  us  beat  this  ample  field, 

Try  what  the  open,  what  the  covert  yield ; 

The  latent  tracts,  the  giddy  heights,  explore 

Of  all  who  blindly  creep,  or  sightless  soar ; 

Eye  nature's  walks,  shoot  folly  as  it  flies, 

And  catch  the  manners  living  as  they  rise ; 

Laugh  where  we  must,  be  candid  where  we  can ; 

But  vindicate  the  ways  of  God  to  Man. 

I.  Say  first,  of  God  above,  or  man  below, 
What  can  we  reason,  but  from  what  we  know  7 
Of  man,  what  see  we  but  his  station  here, 
From  which  to  reason,  or  to  which  refer  ? 

Thro'  worlds  unnumber'd  tho'  the  God  be  known, 

'Tis  ours  to  trace  him  only  in  our  own. 

He,  who  through  vast  immensity  can  pierce, 

See  worlds  on  worlds  compose  one  universe, 

Observe  how  system  into  system  runs, 

What  other  planets  circle  other  suns, 

What  varied  Being  peoples  every  star, 

May  tell  why  Heaven  has  made  us  as  we  are. 

But  of  this  frame,  the  bearings  and  the  ties, 

The  strong  connexions,  nice  dependencies, 

Gradations  just,  has  thy  pervading  soul 

Look'd  through  ?  or  can  a  part  contain  the  whole  1 

Is  the  great  chain,  that  draws  all  to  agree, 

And  drawn  supports,  upheld  by  God,  or  thee  ? 

II.  Presumptuous  Man !  the  reason  wouldst  thou  find, 
Why  form'd  so  weak,  so  little,  and  so  blind  ? 

First,  if  thou  canst,  the  harder  reason  guess, 
Why  form'd  no  weaker,  blinder,  and  no  less  ? 
Ask  of  thy  mother  Earth,  why  oaks  are  made 
Taller  or  stronger  than  the  weeds  they  shade  1 
Or  ask  of  yonder  argent  fields  above, 
Why  JOVE'S  satellites  are  less  than  JOVE  ? 

Of  systems  possible,  if  'tis  confest 
That  Wisdom  infinite  must  form  the  best, 


AN   ESSAY   ON   MAN.  219 

Where  all  must  full  or  not  coherent  be, 
And  all  that  rises,  rise  in  due  degree ; 
Then,  in  the  scale  of  reasoning  life,  'tis  plain, 
There  must  be,  somewhere,  such  a  rank  as  Man: 
And  all  the  question  (wrangle  e'er  so  long) 
Is  only  this,  if  God  has  placed  him  wrong  ? 

Respecting  Man,  whatever  wrong  we  call, 
May,  must  be  right,  as  relative  to  all. 
In  human  works,  though  labour'd  on  with  pain, 
A  thousand  movements  scarce  one  purpose  gain; 
In  God's,  one  single  can  its  end  produce ; 
Yet  serves  to  second,  too,  some  other  use. 
So  Man,  who  here  seems  principal  alone, 
Perhaps  acts  second  to  some  sphere  unknown, 
Touches  some  wheel,  or  verges  to  some  goal ; 
'Tis  but  a  part  we  see,  and  not  a  whole. 

When  the  proud  steed  shall  know  why  Man  restrains 
His  fiery  course,  or  drives  him  o'er  the  plains ; 
When  the  dull  ox,  why  now  he  breaks  the  clod, 
Is  now  a  victim,  and  now  Egypt's  god: 
Then  shall  man's  pride  and  dulness  comprehend 
His  action's,  passion's,  being's,  use  and  end ; 
Why  doing,  suffering;  check'd,' impell'd ;  and  why 
This  hour  a  slave,  the  next  a  deity. 

Then  say  not  Man's  imperfect,  Heaven  in  fault ; 
Say  rather,  Man's  as  perfect  as  he  ought : 
His  knowledge  measured  to  his  state  and  place; 
His  time  a  moment,  and  a  point  his  space. 
If  to  be  perfect  in  a  certain  sphere, 
What  matter,  soon  or  late,  or  here  or  there  ? 
The  blest  to-day  is  as  completely  so, 
As  who  began  a  thousand  years  ago. 

III.  Heaven  from  all  creatures  hides  the  book  of  fate 
All  but  the  page  prescribed,  their  present  state  : 
From  brutes  what  men,  from  men  what  spirits  know: 
Or  who  could  suffer  being  here  below  1 
The  lamb  thy  riot  dooms  to  bleed  to-day, 
Had  he  thy  reason,  would  he  skip  and  play  ? 
Pleased  to  the  last,  he  crops  the  flowery  food, 
And  licks  the  hand  just  raised  to  shed  his  blood. 
Oh  blindness  to  the  future  !  kindly  given, 
That  each  may  fill  the  circle  niark'd  by  Heaven: 
Who  sees  with  equal  eye,  as  God  of  all, 
A  hero  perish,  or  a  sparrow  fall, 


30  AN   ESSAY    ON   MAN. 

Atoms  or  systems  into  ruin  hurl'd, 

And  now  a  bubble  burst,  and  now  a  world, 

Hope  humbly  then;  with  trembling  pinions  soar; 
Wait  the  great  teacher  Death ;  and  God  adore. 
What  future  bliss,  he  gives  not  thee  to  know, 
But  gives  that  hope  to  be  thy  blessing  now. 
Hope  springs  eternal  in  the  human  breast: 
Man  never  is,  but  always  to  be  blest. 
The  soul,  uneasy  and  confined,  from  home, 
Bests  and  expatiates  in  a  life  to  come. 

Lo,  the  poor  Indian  !  whose  untutor'd  mind 
Sees  God  in  clouds,  or  hears  him  in  the  wind ; 
His  soul,  proud  science  never  taught  to  stray 
Far  as  the  solar  walk,  or  milky  way ; 
Yet  simple  nature  to  his  hope  has  given, 
Behind  the  cloud-topp'd  hill,  an  humbler  heaven; 
Some  safer  world,  in  depth  of  woods  embraced, 
Some  happier  island  in  the  watery  waste, 
Where  slaves  once  more  their  native  land  behold, 
No  fiends  torment,  no  Christians  thirst  for  gold: 
To  be,  contents  his  natural  desire, 
He  asks  no  angel's  wing,  no  seraph's  fire ; 
But  thinks,  admitted  to  that  equal  sky, 
His  faithful  dog  shall  bear  him  company. 

IV.  Go,  wiser  thou  !  and,  in  thy  scale  of  sense, 
Weigh  thy  opinion  against  Providence ; 

Call  imperfection  what  thou  fanciest  such, 
Say,  here  he  gives  too  little,  there  too  much: 
Destroy  all  creatures  for  thy  sport  or  gust, 
Yet  cry,  if  Man's  unhappy,  God's  unjust; 
If  Man  alone  engross  not  Heaven's  high  care, 
Alone  made  perfect  here,  immortal  there: 
Snatch  from  his  hand  the  balance  and  the  rod, 
Re-judge  his  justice,  be  the  GOD  of  GOD. 
In  pride,  in  reasoning  pride,  our  error  lies ; 
All  quit  their  sphere,  and  rush  into  the  skies. 
Pride  still  is  aiming  at  the  blest  abodes, 
Men  would  be  angels,  angels  would  be  gods 
Aspiring  to  be  gods,  if  angels  fell, 
Aspiring  to  be  angels,  men  rebel: 
And  who  but  wishes  to  invert  the  laws 
Of  ORDER,  sins  against  the  eternal  Cause. 

V.  Ask  for  what  end  the  heavenly  bodies  shine, 
Earth  for  whose  use  ?    Pride  answers,  "  'Tis  for  mine: 


p.  220. 


L»,  the  jxM'i    Iin!i..n,  v. b(*e  iit.tuluie<l  iniii<l 
Sees  <Jcxl  in  douils,  or  lic-ais  liini  in  tho  win.!. 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN.  221 

For  me  kiud  nature  wakes  her  genial  power, 
Suckles  each  herb,  and  spreads  out  every  flower; 
Annual  for  me,  the  grape,  the  rose  renew 
The  juice  nectareous,  and  the  balmy  dew ; 
For  ine,  the  mine  a  thousand  treasures  brings; 
For  me  health  gushes  from  a  thousand  springs; 
Seas  roll  to  waft  me,  suns  to  light  me  rise ; 
My  footstool  earth,  my  canopy  the  skies." 

But  errs  not  nature  from  this  gracious  end, 
From  burning  suns  when  livid  deaths  descend, 
When  earthquakes  swallow,  or  when  tempests  sweep 
Towns  to  one  grave,  whole  nations  to  the  deep  ? 
"  No  ('tis  replied),  the  first  almighty  Cause 
Acts  not  by  partial,  but  by  general  laws; 
The  exceptions  few;  some  change  since  all  began: 
And  what  created  perfect  ?" — Why  then  Man  1 
If  the  great  end  be  human  happiness, 
Then  nature  deviates ;  and  can  man  do  less  ? 
As  much  that  end  a  constant  course  requires 
Of  showers  and  sunshine,  as  of  Man's  dfesires ; 
As  much  eternal  springs  and  cloudless  skies, 
As  men  for  ever  temperate,  calm,  and  wise. 
If  plagues  or  earthquakes  break  not  Heaven's  design, 
Why  then  a  Borgia,  or  a  Catiline  ? 
Who  knows  but  He,  whose  hand  the  lightning  forms, 
Who  heaves  old  ocean,  and  who  wings  the  storms: 
Pours  fierce  ambition  in  a  Caesar's  mind, 
Or  turns  young  Ammon  loose  to  scourge  mankind  ? 
From  pride,  from  pride,  our  very  reasoning  springs ; 
Account  for  moral,  as  for  natural  things : 
Why  charge  we  Heaven  in  those,  in  these  acquit  ? 
In  both,  to  reason  right,  is  to  submit. 

Better  for  us,  perhaps  it  might  appear, 
Were  there  all  harmony,  all  virtue  here: 
That  never  air  or  ocean  felt  the  wind ; 
That  never  passion  discomposed  the  mind. 
But  ALL  subsists  by  elemental  strife ; 
And  passions  are  the  elements  of  life. 
The  general  ORDER,  since  the  whole  began, 
Is  kept  in  Nature,  and  is  kept  in  man. 

VI.  What  would  this  Man  ?  Now  upward  will  he  soar 
And  little  less  than  angels,  would  be  more ; 
Now  looking  downwards,  just  as  grieved  appears 
To  want  the  strength  of  bulls,  the  fur  of  bears. 


222  AN    ESSAY    ON   MAN. 

Made  for  his  use  all  creatures  if  he  call, 
Say,  what  their  use,  had  he  the  powers  of  all; 
Nature  to  these,  without  profusion,  kind, 
The  proper  organs,  proper  powers  assign'd ; 
Each  seeming  want  compensated  of  course, 
Here  with  degrees  of  swiftness,  there  of  force  ;* 
All  in  exact  proportion  to  the  state ; 
Nothing  to  add,  and  nothing  to  abate. 
Each  beast,  each  insect,  happy  in  it*  own: 
Is  Heaven  unkind  to  Man,  and  Man  alone  ? 
Shall  he  alone,  whom  rational  we  call, 
Be  pleased  with  nothing,  if  not  blessed  with  all  ? 

The  bliss  of  Man  (could  pride  that  blessing  find) 
Is  not  to  act  or  think  beyond  mankind ; 
No  powers  of  body  or  of  soul  to  share, 
But  what  his  nature  and  his  state  can  bear. 
Why  has  not  man  a  microscopic  eye  ? 
For  this  plain  reason,  Man  is  not  a  fly. 
Say  what  the  use,  were  finer  optics  given, 
To  inspect  a  Hite,  not  comprehend  the  heaven  ? 
Or  touch,  if  tremblingly  alive  all  o'er, 
To  smart  and  agonise  at  every  pore  ? 
Or  quick  effluvia  darting  through  the  brain, 
Die  of  a  rose  in  aromatic  pain  1 
If  nature  thunder'd  in  his  opening  ears, 
And  stunn'd  him  with  the  music  of  the  spheres, 
How  would  he  wish  that  Heaven  had  left  him  still, 
The  whispering  zephyr,  and  the  purling  rill '( 
Who  finds  not  Providence  all  good  and  wise, 
Alike  in  what  it  gives,  and  what  denies  ? 

VII.  Far  as  creation's  ample  range  extends, 
The  scale  of  sensual,  mental  powers  ascends^ 
Mark  how  it  mounts,  to  Man's  imperial  race, 
From  the  green  myriads  in  the  peopled  grass : 
What  modes  of  sight  betwixt  each  wide  extreme, 
The  mole's  dim  curtain,  and  the  lynx's  beam 
Of  smell,  the  headlong  lioness2  between, 
And  hound  sagacious  on  the  tainted  green : 

1  It  is  a  certain  axiom  in  the  anatomy  of  creatures,  that  in  proportion 
as  they  are  formed  for  strength,  their  swiftness  is  lessened ;  or  as  they 
are  formed  for  swiftness,  their  strength  is  abated. 

2  The  manner  of  the  lions  hunting  their  prey  in  the   deserts  of 
Africa  is  this :  At  their  first  going  out  in  the  night-time,  they  set  up  a 


AN    ESSAY   ON    MAN.  223 

Of  hearing,  from  the  life  that  fills  the  flood, 

To  that  which  warbles  through  the  vernal  wood  ? 

The  spider's  touch,  how  exquisitely  fine  ! 

Feels  at  each  thread,  and  lives  along  the  line : 

In  the  nice  bee,  what  sense  so  subtly  true 

From  poisonous  herbs  extracts  the  healing  dew  ? 

How  instinct  varies  in  the  groveling  swine, 

Compared,  half-reasoning  elephant,  with  thine ! 

'Twixt  that,  and  reason,  what  a  nice  barrier? 

For  ever  separate,  yet  for  ever  near! 

Eemembrance  and  reflection,  how  allied ; 

What  thin  partitions  sense  from  thought  divide ! 

And  middle  natures,  how  they  long  to  join, 

Yet  never  pass  the  insuperable  line ! 

Without  this  just  gradation,  could  they  be 

Subjected,  these  to  those,  or  all  to  thee? 

The  powers  of  all  subdued  by  thee  alone, 

Is  not  thy  reason  all  these  powers  in  one?         [earth, 

VIII.  See,  through  this  air,  this  ocean,  and  this 
All  matter  quick,  and  bursting  into  birth. 
Above,  how  high,  progressive  life  may  go ! 
Around,  how  wide,  how  deep  extend  below ! 
Vast  chain  of  being !  which  from  God  began.. 
Natures  ethereal,  human,  angel,  man, 
Beast,  bird,  fish,  insect,  what  no  eye  can  see, 
No  glass  can  reach ;  from  Infinite  to  thee, 
From  thee  to  Nothing. — On  superior  powers, 
Were  we  to  press,  inferior  might  on  ours: 
Or  in  the  full  creation  leave  a  void, 
Where,  one  step  broken,  the  great  scale's  destroy'd: 
From  nature's  chain  whatever  link  you  strike, 
Tenth,  or  ten  thousandth,  breaks  the  chain  alike. 

And,  if  each  system  in  gradation  roll 
Alike  essential  to  the  amazing  whole, 
The  least  contusion  but  in  one,  not  all 
That  system  only,  but  the  whole  must  fall. 
Let  earth  unbalanced  from  her  orbit  fly, 
Planets  and  stars  run  lawless  through  the  sky; 
Let  ruling  angels  from  their  sphere  be  hurl'd, 
Being  on  being  wreck'd,  and  world  on  world; 

loud  roar,  and  then  listen  to  the  noise  made  by  the  beasts  in  their 
flight,  pursuing  them  by  the  ear,  and  not  by  the  nostril.  It  is  probable 
the  story  of  the  jackal  6  hunting  for  the  lion,  was  occasioned  by  the 
observation  of  this  defect  of  scent  in  that  terrible  animal. 


224  AN    ESSAY   ON   MAN. 

Heaven's  whole  foundations  to  their  centre  nod, 
And  nature  trembles  to  the  throne  of  God. 
All  this  dread  ORDER  break — for  whom  ?  for  thee  ? 
Vile  worm  ! — oh  madness  !  pride !  impiety  ! 

IX.  What  if  the  foot,  ordain'd  the  dust  to  tread, 
Or  hand,  to  toil,  aspired  to  be  the  head  1 

What  if  the  head,  the  eye,  or  ear  repined 
To  serve  mere  engines  to  the  ruling  mind  ? 
Just  as  absurd  for  any  part  to  claim 
To  be  another,  in  this  general  frame : 
Just  as  absurd,  to  mourn  the  tasks  or  pains, 
The  great  directing  MIND  OF  ALL  ordains. 

All  are  but  parts  of  one  stupendous  whole, 
Whose  body  nature  is,  and  God  the  soul ; 
That,  changed  through  all,  and  yet  in  all  the  same ; 
Great  in  the  earth,  as  in  the  ethereal  frame ; 
Warms  in  the  sun,  refreshes  in  the  breeze, 
Glows  in  the  stars,  and  blossoms  in  the  trees, 
Lives  through  all  life,  extends  through  all  extent, 
Spreads  undivided,  operates  unspent ; 
Breathes  in  our  soul,  informs  our  mortal  part, 
As  full,  as  perfect,  in  a  hair  as  heart ; 
As  full,  as  perfect,  in  vile  man  that  mourns, 
As  the  rapt  seraph,  that  adores  and  burns: 
To  Him  no  high,  no  low,  no  great,  no  small ; 
He  fills,  He  bounds,  connects,  and  equals  all. 

X.  Cease  then,  nor  ORDER  imperfection  name : 
Our  proper  bliss  depends  on  what  we  blame. 
Know  thy  own  point:  This  kind,  this  due  degree 
Of  blindness,  weakness,  Heaven  bestows  on  thee. 
Submit. — In  this,  or  any  other  sphere, 

Secure  to  be  as  blest  as  thou  canst  bear: 

Safe  in  the  hand  of  one  disposing  Power, 

Or  in  the  natal,  or  the  mortal  hour. 

All  nature  is  but  art,  unknown  to  thee ; 

All  chance,  direction,  which  thou  canst  not  see ; 

All  discord,  harmony  not  understood ; 

All  partial  evil,  universal  good : 

And,  spite  of  pride,  in  erring  reason's  spite, 

One  truth  is  clear,  WHATEVER  is,  is  RIGHT. 


AN  ESSAY  ON   MAN.  225 

EPISTLE  II. 

ARGUMENT. 

OF  THE  NATCBE  AND  STATE  OF  MAN,   WITH  EESPECT  TO   HIMSELF 
AS  AN  IKDlVtUUAI,. 

I.  The  business  of  man  not  to  pry  into  God,  but  to  study  hinuelf. 
His  middle  nature;  his  powers  and  frailties.  The  limits  of  his  capacity. 
II.  The  two  principles  of  man,  telf-lote  and  reason,  both  necessary. 
Self-love  the  stronger,  and  why.  .  Their  end  the  same.  III.  The  PAS- 
SIONS, and  their  use.  The  predominant  passion,  and  its  force.  Its 
necessity,  in  directing  men  to  difl'erent  purposes.  Its  providential  use, 
in  fixing  our  principle,  and  ascertaining  our  virtue.  IV.  Fiitue  and 
eiVe  joined  in  our  mixed  nature;  the  limits  near,  yet  the  things  separate 
and  evident :  What  is  the  office  of  reason  f  V.  How  odious  vice  in 
itself,  and  how  we  deceive  ourselves  in  it.  VI.  That,  however,  the 
endt  of  Providence  and  general  good  are  answered  in  our  passions  and 
imperfections.  How  usefully  these  are  distributed  to  all  orders  of  men. 
How  useful  they  are  to  society.  And  to  the  individualt.  la  every 
ftate,  and  every  age  of  life. 


I.  KNOW  then  thyself,  presume  not  God  to  scan, 
The  proper  study  of  mankind  is  Man. 
Placed  on  this  isthmus  of  a  middle  state, 
A  being  darkly  wise,  and  rudely  great ; 
With  too  much  knowledge  for  the  sceptic  side, 
With  too  much  weakness  for  the  stoic's  pride, 
He  hangs  between ;  in  doubt  to  act  or  rest ; 
In  doubt  to  deem  himself  a  god,  or  beast; 
[n  doubt  his  mind  or  body  to  prefer ; 
Born  but  to  die,  and  reasoning  but  to  err ; 
Alike  in  ignorance,  his  reason  such, 
Whether  he  thinks  too  little,  or  too  much : 
Chaos  of  thought  and  passion,  all  confused; 
Still  by  himself  abused,  or  disabused ; 
Created  half  to  rise,  and  half  to  fall ; 
Great  lord  of  all  things,  yet  a  prey  to  all ; 
Sole  judge  of  truth,  in  endless  error  hurl'd: 
The  glory,  jest,  and  riddle  of  the  world  ! 

Go,  wondrous  creature  !  mount  where  science  guides, 
Go,  measure  earth,  weigh  air,  and  state  the  tides; 
Instruct  the  planets  in  what  orbs  to  run, 
Correct  old  Time,  and  regulate  the  sun ; 
Go,  soar  with  Plato,  to  the  empyreal  sphere, 
To  the  first  good,  first  perfect,  and  first  fair! 
21 


226  AN   ESSAY    ON   MAN. 

Or  tread  the  mazy  round  his  followers  trod, 
And  quitting  sense  call  imitating  God ; 
As  Eastern  priests  in  giddy  circles  run, 
And  turn  their  heads  to  imitate  the  sun. 
Go,  teach  Eternal  Wisdom  how  to  rule—- 
Then drop  into  thyself,  and  be  a  fool ! 

Superior  beings,  when  of  late  they  saw 
A  mortal  man  unfold  all  nature's  law, 
Admired  such  wisdom  in  an  earthly  shape, 
And  show'd  a  NEWTON  as  we  show  an  ape. 

Could  he,  whose  rules  the  rapid  comet  bind, 
Describe  or  fix  one  movement  of  his  mind  ? 
Who  saw  its  fires  here  rise,  and  there  descend, 
Explain  his  own  beginning,  or  his  end  1 
Alas,  what  wonder !     Man's  superior  part 
Uncheck'd  may  rise,  and  climb  from  art  to  art  j 
But  when  his  own  great  work  is  but  begun, 
What  reason  weaves,  by  passion  is  undone. 

Trace  science  then,  with  modesty  thy  guide : 
First  strip  off  all  her  equipage  of  pride ; 
Deduct  what  is  but  vanity,  or  dress, 
Or  learning's  luxury,  or  idleness ; 
Or  tricks  to  show  the  stretch  of  human  brain, 
Mere  curious  pleasure,  or  ingenious  pain ; 
Expunge  the  whole,  or  lop  the  excrescent  parts 
Of  all  our  vices  have  created  arts ; 
Then  see  how  little  the  remaining  sum, 
Which  served  the  past,  and  must  the  times  to  come ! 

II.  Two  principles  in  human  nature  reign ; 
Self-love,  to  urge,  and  reason,  to  restrain ; 
Nor  this  a  good,  nor  that  a  bad  we  call, 
Each  works  its  end,  to  move  or  govern  all : 
And  to  their  proper  operation  still 
Ascribe  all  good ;  to  their  improper,  ill. 

Self-love,  the  spring  of  motion,  acts  the  soul; 
Reason's  comparing  balance  rules  the  whole. 
Man,  but  for  that,  no  action  could  attend, 
And  but  for  this,  were  active  to  no  end: 
Pix'd  like  a  plant  on  his  peculiar  spot, 
To  draw  nutrition,  propagate,  and  rot ; 
Or,  meteor-like,  flame  lawless  through  the  void, 
Destroying  others,  by  himself  destroy'd. 

Most  strength  the  moving  principle  requires: 
Active  its  task,  it  prompts,  impels,  inspires. 


AN   ESSAY   ON  MAN.  227 

Sedate  and  quiet,  the  comparing  lies, 
Form'd  but  to  check,  deliberate,  and  advise. 
Self-love  still  stronger,  as  its  objects  nigh; 
Reason's  at  distance,  and  in  prospect  lie: 
That  sees  immediate  good  by  present  sense ; 
Reason,  the  future  and  the  consequence. 
Thicker  than  arguments,  temptations  throng, 
At  best  more  watchful  this,  but  that  more  strong. 
The  action  of  the  stronger  to  suspend 
Reason  still  use,  to  reason  still  attend. 
Attention,  habit  and  experience  gains ; 
Each  strengthens  reason,  and  self-love  restrains. 

Let  subtle  schoolmen  teach  these  friends  to  fight, 
More  studious  to  divide  than  to  unite ; 
And  grace  and  virtue,  sense  and  reason  split, 
With  all  the  rash  dexterity  of  wit. 
Wits,  just  like  fools,  at  war  about  a  name, 
Have  full  as  oft  no  meaning,  or  the  same. 
Self-love  and  reason  to  one  end  aspire, 
Pain  their  aversion,  pleasure  their  desire ; 
But  greedy  That,  its  object  would  devour, 
This  taste  the  honey,  and  not  wound  the  flower: 
Pleasure,  or  wrong  or  rightly  understood, 
Our  greatest  evil,  or  our  greatest  good. 

III.  Modes  of  self-love  the  passions  we  may  call ; 
'Tis  real  good,  or  seeming,  moves  them  all: 
But  since  not  every  good  we  can  divide ; 
And  reason  bids  us  for  our  own  provide : 
Passions,  thotfgh  selfish,  if  their  means  be  fair, 
List  under  Reason,  and  deserve  her  care ; 
Those,  that  imparted,  court  a  nobler  aim, 
Exalt  their  kind,  and  take  some  virtue's  name. 

In  lazy  apathy  let  stoics  boast 
Their  virtue  fix'd ;  'tis  fix'd  as  in  a  frost ; 
Contracted  all,  retiring  to  the  breast ; 
But  strength  of  mind  is  exercise,  not  rest : 
The  rising  tempest  puts  in  act  the  soul, 
Parts  it  may  ravage,  but  preserves  the  whole. 
On  life's  vast  ocean  diversely  we  sail, 
Reason  the  card,  but  passion  is  the  gale ; 
Nor  God  alone  in  the  still  calm  we  find, 
He  mounts  the  storm,  and  walks  upon  the  wind. 

Passions,  like  elements,  though  born  to  fight, 
Yet,  mix'd  and  soften'd,  in  his  work  unite : 
Q  2 


AN   ESSAY   ON   MAN. 

These,  'tis  enough  to  temper  and  employ; 
But  what  composes  man,  can  man  destroy. 
Suffice  that  Reason  keep  to  Nature's  road, 
Subject,  compound  them,  follow  her  and  God. 
Love,  hope,  and  joy,  fair  pleasure's  smiling  train, 
Hate,  fear,  and  grief,  the  family  of  pain, 
These,  mix'd  with  art,  and  to  due  bounds  confined, 
Make  and  maintain  the  balance  of  the  mind: 
The  lights  and  shades,  whose  well-accorded  strife 
Gives  all  the  strength  and  colour  of  our  life. 
Pleasures  are  ever  in  our  hands  or  eyes ; 
And  when  in  act  they  cease,  in  prospect  rise: 
Present  to  grasp,  and  future  still  to  find, 
The  whole  employ  of  body  and  of  mind. 
All  spread  their  charms,  but  charm  not  all  alike; 
On  different  senses  different  objects  strike; 
Hence  different  passions  more  or  less  inflame, 
As  strong  or  weak,  the  organs  of  the  frame; 
And  hence  one  MASTER  PASSION  in  the  breast, 
Like  Aaron's  serpent,  swallows  up  the  rest. 

As  man,  perhaps,  the  moment  of  his  breath, 
Eeceives  the  lurking  principle  of  death; 
The  young  disease,  that  must  subdue  at  length, 
Grows  with  his  growth,  and  strengthens  with  his  strength; 
So  cast  and  mingled  with  his  very  frame, 
The  mind's  disease,  its  EULING  PASSION,  came; 
Each  vital  humour  which  should  feed  the  whole, 
Soon  flows  to  this,  in  body  and  in  soul : 
Whatever  warms  the  heart,  or  fills  the  head, 
As -the  mind  opens,  and  its  functions  spread, 
Imagination  plies  her  dangerous  art, 
And  pours  it  all  upon  the  peccant  part. 
Nature  its  mother,  habit  is  its  nurse ; 
Wit,  spirit,  faculties,  but  make  it  worse; 
Reason  itself  but  gives  it  edge  and  power; 
As  Heaven's  blest  beam  turns  vinegar  more  sour. 

We,  wretched  subjects,  though  to  lawful  sway, 
In  this  weak  queen,  some  favourite  still  obey; 
Ah !  if  she  lend  not  arms,  as  well  as  rules, 
What  can  she  more  than  tell  us  we  are  fools  P 
Teach  us  to  mourn  our  nature,  not  to  mend, 
A  sharp  accuser,  but  a  helpless  friend ! 
Or  from  a  judge  turn  pleader,  to  persuade 
The  choice  we  make,  or  justify  it  made; 


AN    ESSAY    ON   MAN.  229 

Proud  of  an  easy  conquest  all  along, 
She  but  removes  weak  passions  for  the  strong: 
So,  when  small  humours  gather  to  a  gout, 
The  doctor  fancies  he  has  driven  them  out,. 

Yes,  nature's  road  must  ever  be  preferr'd; 
Reason  is  here  no  guide,  but  still  a  guard: 
Tis  hers  to  rectify,  not  overthrow, 
And  treat  this  passion  more  as  friend  than  foe: 
A  mightier  Power  the  strong  direction  sends, 
And  several  men  impels  to  several  ends : 
Like  varying  winds,  by  other  passions  toss'd, 
This  drives  them  constant  to  a  certain  coast. 
Let  power  or  knowledge,  gold  or  glory,  please; 
Or  (oft  more  strong  than  all)  the  love  of  ease ; 
Through  life  'tis  follow'd,  e'en  at  life's  expense; 
The  merchant's  toil,  the  sage's  indolence, 
The  monk's  humility,  the  hero's  pride, 
All,  all  alike,  find  reason  on  their  side. 

The  Eternal  Art  educing  good  from  ill, 
Grafts  on  this  passion  our  best  principle: 
'Tis  thus  the  mercury  of  man  is  fix'd, 
Strong  grows  the  virtue  with  his  nature  mix'd; 
The  dross  cements  what  else  were  too  refined, 
And  in  one  interest  body  acts  with  mind. 

As  fruits,  ungrateful  to  the  planter's  care, 
On  savage  stocks  inserted,  learn  to  bear ; 
The  surest  virtues  thus 'from  passions  shoot, 
"Wild  nature's  vigour  working  at  the  root. 
What  crops  of  wit  and  honesty  appear 
From  spleen,  from  obstinacy,  hate,  or  fear! 
See  anger,  zeal  and  fortitude  supply; 
Even  avarice,  prudence;  sloth,  philosophy; 
Lust,  through  some  certain  strainers  well  refined, 
Is  gentle  love,  and  charms  all  womankind; 
Envy,  to  which  the  ignoble  mind^  a  slave, 
Is  emulation  in  the  learn'd  or  brave ; 
Nor  virtue,  male  or  female,  can  we  name, 
But  what  will  grow  on  pride,  or  grow  on  shame. 

Thus  nature  gives  us  (let  it  check  our  pride) 
The  virtue  nearest  to  our  vice  allied ; 
Reason  the  bias  turns  from  good  to  ill, 
And  Nero  reigns  a  Titus,  if  he  will. 
The  fiery  soul  abhorr'd  in  Catiline, 
In  Decius  charms,  in  Curtius  is  divine: 
21* 


AN    ESSAY    ON   MAN. 

The  same  ambition  can  destroy  or  save, 
And  makes  a  patriot  as  it  makes  a  knave. 

IV.  This  light  and  darkness  in  our  chaos  join'd, 
What  shall  divide  ?     The  God  within  the  mind. 

Extremes  in  nature  equal  ends  produce, 
In  man  they  join  to  some  mysterious  use; 
Though  each  by  turns  the  other's  bound  invade, 
As,  in  some  well-wrought  picture,  light  and  shade, 
And  oft  so  mix,  the  difference  is  too  nice 
Where  ends  the  virtue,  or  begins  the  vice. 

Fools!  who  from  hence  into  the  notion  fall, 
That  vice  or  virtue  there  is  none  at  all. 
If  white  and  black  blend,  soften,  and  unite 
A  thousand  ways,  is  there  no  black  or  white? 
Ask  your  own  heart,  and  Nothing  is  so  plain; 
'Tis  to  mistake  them  costs  the  time  and  pain. 

V.  Vice  is  a  monster  of  so  frightful  mien, 
As,  to  be  bated,  needs  but  to  be  seen ; 

Yet  seen  too  oft,  familiar  with  her  face, 

We  first  endure,  then  pity,  then  embrace. 

But  where  the  extreme  of  vice,  was  ne'er  agreed: 

Ask  where 's  the  north?  at  York,  'tis  on  the  Tweed; 

In  Scotland,  at  the  Orcades;  and  there, 

At  Greenland,  Zembla,  or  the  Lord  knows  where. 

No  creature  owns  it  in  the  first  degree, 

But  thinks  his  neighbour  farther  gone  than  he ; 

Even  those  who  dwell  beneath  its  very  zone, 

Or  never  feel  the  rage,  or  never  own ; 

What  happier  natures  shrink  at  with  affright, 

The  hard  inhabitant  contends  is  right. 

Virtuous  and  vicious  every  man  must  be, 
Few  in  the  extreme,  but  all  in  the  degree  ; 
The  rogue  and  fool  by  fits  is  fair  and  wise ; 
And  even  the  best,  by  fits,  what  they  despise. 
'Tis  but  by  parts  we  follow  good  or  ill ; 
For,  vice  or  virtue,  self  directs  it  still ; 
Each  individual  seeks  a  several  goal ; 
But  HEAVEN'S  great  view  is  one,  and  that  the  whota 

VI.  That  counter-works  each  folly  and  caprice; 
That  disappoints  the  effect  of  every  vice ; 

That,  happy  frailties  to  all  ranks  applied ; 
Shame  to  the  virgin,  to  the  matron  pride, 
Fear  to  the  statesman,  rashness  to  the  chief, 
To  kings  presumption,  and  to  crowds  belief: 


AN   ESSAY   ON  MAN.  231 

That,  virtue's  ends  from  vanity  can  raise, 
Which  seeks  no  interest,  no  reward  but  praise ; 
And  build  on  wants,  and  on  defects  of  mind, 
The  joy,  the  peace,  the  glory  of  mankind. 

Heaven  forming  each  on  other  to  depend, 
A  master,  or  a  servant,  or  a  friend, 
Bids  each  on  other  for  assistance  call, 
Till  one  man's  weakness  grows  the  strength  of  alL 
Wants,  frailties,  passions,  closer  still  ally 
The  common  interest,  or  endear  the  tie. 
To  these  we  owe  true  friendship,  love  sincere, 
Each  home-felt  joy  that  life  inherits  here; 
Yet  from  the  same  we  learn,  in  its  decline, 
Those  joys,  those  loves,  those  interests  to  resign ; 
Taught  half  by  reason,  half  by  mere  decay, 
To  welcome  death,  and  calmly  pass  away. 

Whate'er  the  passion,  knowledge,  fame,  or  pelf, 
Not  one  will  change  his  neighbour  with  himself. 
The  learn'd  is  happy  nature  to  explore, 
The  fool  is  happy  that  he  knows  no  more ; 
The  rich  is  happy  in  the  plenty  given, 
The  poor  contents  him  with  the  care  of  Heaven. 
See  the  blind  beggar  dance,  the  cripple  sing, 
The  sot  a  hero,  lunatic  a  king ; 
The  starving  chemist  in  his  golden  views 
Supremely  blest,  the  poet  in  his  muse. 

See  some  strange  comfort  every  state  attend, 
And  pride  bestow'd  on  all,  a  common  friend: 
See  some  fit  passion  every  age  supply, 
Hope  travels  through,  nor  quits  us  when  we  die. 

Behold  the  child,  by  nature's  kindly  law, 
Pleased  with  a  rattle,  tickled  with  a  straw: 
Some  livelier  plaything  gives  his  youth  delight, 
A  little  louder,  but  as  empty  quite : 
Scarfs,  garters,  gold,  amuse  his  riper  stage, 
And  beads  and  prayer-books  are  the  toys  of  age : 
Pleased  with  this  bauble  still,  as  that  before, 
Till  tired  he  sleeps,  and  life's  poor  play  is  o'er. 
Meanwhile  opinion  gilds  with  varying  rays 
Those  painted  clouds  that  beautify  our  days; 
Each  want  of  happiness  by  hope  supplied, 
And  each  vacuity  of  sense  by  pride : 
These  build  as  fast  as  knowledge  can  destroy; 
In  folly's  cup  still  laughs  the  bubble,  joy; 


232  AN   ESSAY   ON   MAN. 

One  prospect  lost,  another  still  we  gain ; 

And  not  a  vanity  is  given  in  vain ; 

Even  mean  self-love  becomes,  by  force  divine, 

The  scale  to  measure  others'  wants  by  thine. 

See !  and  confess,  one  comfort  still  must  rise; 

"Tis  this, — Though  Man's  a  fool,  yet  GOD  is  WISE. 


EPISTLE   III. 
ARGUMENT. 

OF  THE  NATUBE  AND  STATE  OF  MAN  WITH  RESPECT  TO   SOCIETY. 

I.  The  whole  universe  one  system  of  society.  Nothing  made  wholly 
for  itself,  nor  yet  wholly  for  another.  The  happiness  of  animals  mutual. 
II.  Reason  or  instinct  operate  alike  to  the  good  of  each  individual. 
Reason  or  instinct  operate  also  to  society,  in  all  animals.  III.  How  far 
tociety  carried  by  instinct.  How  much  farther  by  reason.  IV.  Of  that 
Which  is  called  the  state  of  nature.  Reason  instructed  by  instinct  in  the 
invention  of  arts,  and  in  the  forms  of  tociety.  V.  Origin  of  political 
societies.  Origin  of  monarchy.  Patriarchal  government.  VI.  Origin 
of  true  religion  and  government,  from  the  same  principle,  of  love. 
Origin  of  superstition  and  tyranny,  from  the  same  principle,  of  fear. 
The  influence  of  self-love  operating  to  the  social  and  public  good.  Re- 
storation of  true  religion  and  government  on  their  first  principle. 
Mixed  government.  Various  forms  of  each,  and  the  true  end  of  all. 


HERE  then  we  rest : — "  The  Universal  Cause 
Acts  to  one  end,  but  acts  by  various  laws." 
In  all  the  madness  of  superfluous  health, 
The  trim  of  pride,  the  impudence  of  wealth, 
Let  this  great  truth  be  present  night  and  day; 
But  most  be  present,  if  we  preach  or  pray. 

Look  round  our  world ;  behold  the  chain  of  love 
Combining  all  below  and  all  above. 
See  plastic  nature  working  to  this  end, 
The  single  atoms  each  to  other  tend, 
Attract,  attracted  to,  the  next  in  place, 
Form'd  and  impell'd  its  neighbour  to  embrace. 
See  matter  next,  with  various  life  endued, 
Press  to  one  centre  still,  the  general  good. 
See  dying  vegetables  life  sustain, 
See  life  dissolving  vegetate  again: 


AN   ESSAY    ON   MAN.  233 

All  forms  that  perish  other  forms  supply, 
(By  turns  we  catch  the  vital  breath,  and  die) 
Like  bubbles  on  the  sea  of  matter  borne, 
They  rise,  they  break,  and  to  that  sea  return. 
Nothing  is  foreign ;  parts  relate  to  whole ; 
One  all-extending,  all-preserving  Soul 
Connects  each  being,  greatest  with  the  least; 
Made  beast  in  aid  of  man,  and  man  of  beast ; 
All  served,  all  serving :  nothing  stands  alone ; 
The  chain  holds  on,  and  where  it  ends,  unknown. 

Has  God,  thou  fool!  work'd  solely  for  thy  good, 
Thy  joy,  thy  pastime,  thy  attire,  thy  food  ( 
Who  for  thy  table  feeds  the  wanton  fawn, 
For  him  as  kindly  spread  the  flowery  lawn: 
Is  it  for  thee  the  lark  ascends  and  sings? 
Joy  tunes  his  voice,  joy  elevates  his  wings. 
Is  it  for  thee  the  linnet  pours  his  throat? 
Loves  of  his  own  and  raptures  swell  the  note. 
The  bounding  steed  you  pompously  bestride, 
Shares  with  his  lord  the  pleasure  and  the  pride. 
Is  thine  alone  the  seed  that  strews  the  plain? 
The  birds  of  heaven  shall  vindicate  their  grain. 
Thine  the  full  harvest  of  the  golden  year? 
Part  pays,  and  justly,  the  deserving  steer: 
The  hog  that  ploughs  not,  nor  obeys  thy  call, 
Lives  on  the  labours  of  this  lord  of  all. 

Know,  nature's  children  all  divide  hei  care  ; 
The  fur  that  warms  a  monarch,  warm'd  a  bear. 
"While  man  exclaims,  "  See  all  things  for  my  use !" 
"  See  man  for  mine  !"  replies  a  pamper'd  goose: 
And  just  as  short  of  reason  he  must  fall, 
Who  thinks  all  made  for  one,  not  one  for  all. 

Grant  that  the  powerful  still  the  weak  control; 
Be  man  the  wit  and  tyrant  of  the  whole : 
Nature  that  tyrant  checks ;  he  only  knows, 
And  helps,  another  creature's  wants  and  woes. 
Say,  will  the  falcon,  stooping  from  above, 
Smit  with  her  varying  plumage,  spare  the  dove? 
Admires  the  jay  the  insect's  gilded  wings  ? 
Or  hears  the  hawk  when  Philomela  sings? 
Man  cares  for  all :  to  birds  he  gives  his  woods, 
To  beasts  his  pastures,  and  to  fish  his  floods ; 
For  some  his  interest  prompts  him  to  provide, 
For  more  his  pleasure,  yet  for  more  his  pride: 


234  AN   ESSAY    ON   MAN. 

All  feed  on  one  vain  patron,  and  enjoy 
The  extensive  blessing  of  his  luxury. 
That  very  life  his  learned  hunger  craves, 
He  saves  from  famine,  from  the  savage  saves ; 
Nay,  feasts  the  animal  he  dooms  his  feast, 
And,  till  he  ends  the  being,  makes  it  blest ; 
Which  sees  no  more  the  stroke,  or  feels  the  pain, 
Than  favour'd  man  by  touch  ethereal  slain.1 
The  creature  had  his  feast  of  life  before; 
Thou  too  must  perish,  when  thy  feast  is  o'er ! 

To  each  unthinking  being,  Heaven  a  friend, 
Gives  not  the  useless  knowledge  of  its  end : 
To  man  imparts  it,  but  with  such  a  view 
As,  while  he  dreads  it,  makes  him  hope  it  too : 
The  hour  conceal'd,  and  so  remote  the  fear, 
Death  still  draws  nearer,  never  seeming  near. 
Great  standing  miracle !  that  Heaven  assign'd 
Its  only  thinking  thing  this  turn  of  mind. 

II.  Whether  with  reason  or  with  instinct  blest, 
Know,  all  enjoy  that  power  which  suits  them  best; 
To  bliss  alike  by  that  direction  tend, 
And  find  the  means  proportion'd  to  their  end. 
Say,  where  full  instinct  is  the  unerring  guide, 
What  pope  or  council  can  they  need  beside  1 
Reason,  however  able,  cool  at  best, 
Cares  not  for  service,  or  but  serves  when  prest, 
Stays  till  we  call,  and  then  not  often  near; 
But  honest  instinct  comes  a  volunteer, 
Sure  never  to  o'ershoot,  but  just  tS  hit ; 
While  still  too  wide  or  short  is  human  wit; 
Sure  by  quick  nature  happiness  to  gain, 
Which  heavier  reason  labours  at  in  vain. 
This  too  serves  always,  reason  never  long ; 
One  must  go  right,  the  other  may  go  wrong. 
See  then  the  acting  and  comparing  powers 
One  in  their  nature,  which  are  two  in  ours ; 
And  reason  raise  o'er  instinct  as  you  can, 
In  this  'tis  God  directs,  in  that  'tis  man. 

Who  taught  the  nations  of  the  field  and  wood 
To  shun  their  poison,  and  to  choose  their  food  ? 
Prescient,  the  tides  or  tempests  to  withstand, 
Build  on  the  wave,  or  arch  beneath  the  sand  ? 
1  Several  of  the  ancients,  and  many  of  the  Orientals  since,  esteemed 
those  who  were  struck  by  lightning  as  sacred  persons,  and  the  particular 
favourites  of  Heaven. 


AN    ESSAY    ON   MAN.  235 

Who  made  the  spider  parallels  design, 
Sure  as  De  Moivre,  without  rule  or  line  ? 
Who  bid  the  stork,  Columbus-like,  explore 
Heavens  not  his  own,  and  worlds  unknown  before  1 
Who  calls  the  council,  states  the  certain  day, 
Who  forms  the  phalanx,  and  who  points  the  way? 

III.  God,  in  the  nature  of  each  being,  founds 
Its  proper  bliss,  and  sets  its  proper  bounds : 
But  as  he  framed  the  whole,  the  whole  to  bless, 
On  mutual  wants  built  mutual  happiness: 
So  from  the  first,  eternal  ORDER  ran, 
And  creature  link'd  to  creature,  man  to  man. 
Whate'er  of  life  all-quickening  ether  keeps, 
Or  breathes  through  air,  or  shoots  beneath  the  deeps, 
Or  pours  profuse  on  earth,  one  nature  feeds 
The  vital  flame,  and  swells  the  genial  seeds. 
Not  man  alone,  but  all  that  roam  the  wood, 
Or  wing  the  sky,  or  roll  along  the  flood, 
Each  loves  itself,  but  not  itself  alone, 
Each  sex  desires  alike,  till  two  are  one. 
Nor  ends  the  pleasure  with  the  fierce  embrace ; 
They  love  themselves,  a  third  time,  in  their  race. 
Thus  beast  and  bird  their  common  charge  attend, 
The  mothers  nurse  it,  and  the  sires  defend ; 
The  young  dismiss'd  to  wander  earth  or  air, 
There  stops  the  instinct,  and  there  ends  the  care ; 
The  link  dissolves,  each  seeks  a  fresh  embrace, 
Another  love  succeeds,  another  race. 
A  longer  care  man's  helpless  kind  demands ; 
That  longer  care  contracts  more  lasting  bands : 
Reflection,  reason,  still  the  ties  improve, 
At  once  extend  the  interest,  and  the  love ; 
With  choice  we  fix,  with  sympathy  we  burn ; 
Each  virtue  in  each  passion  takes  its  turn ; 
And  still  new  needs,  new  helps,  new  habits  rise, 
That  graft  benevolence  on  charities. 
Still  as  one  brood,  and  as  another  rose, 
These  natural  love  maintain'd,  habitual  those: 
The  last,  scarce  ripen'd  into  perfect  man, 
Saw  helpless  him  from  whom  their  life  began: 
Memory  and  forecast  just  returns  engage, 
That  pointed  back  to  youth,  this  on  to  age ; 
While  pleasure,  gratitude,  and  hope,  combined, 
Still  spread  the  interest,  and  preserved  the  kind. 


236  AN   ESSAY   ON   MAN. 

IV.  Nor  think  in  NATURE'S  STATE  they  blindly  trod 
The  state  of  nature  was  the  reign  of  God : 
Self-love  and  social  at  her  birth  began, 
Union  the  bond  of  all  things,  and  of  man. 
Pride  then  was  not ;  nor  arts,  that  pride  to  aid ; 
Man  walk'd  with  beast,  joint-tenant  of  the  shade; 
The  same  his  table,  and  the  same  his  bed ; 
No  murder  clothed  him,  and  no  murder  fed. 
In  the  same  temple,  the  resounding  wood, 
All  vocal  beings  hymn'd  their  equal  God : 
The  shrine  with  gore  unstain'd,  with  gold  undrest, 
Unbribed,  unbloody,  stood  the  blameless  priest: 
Heaven's  attribute  was  universal  care, 
And  man's  prerogative  to  rule,  but  spare. 
Ah  !  how  unlike  the  man  of  times  to  come  ! 
Of  half  that  live  the  butcher  and  the  tomb  ! 
Who,  foe  to  nature,  hears  the  general  groan, 
Murders  their  species,  and  betrays  his.  own. 
But  just  disease  to  luxury  succeeds, 
And  every  death  its  own  avenger  breeds; 
The  fury-passions  from  that  blood  began,  • 

And  turn'd  on  man  a  fiercer  savage,  man. 

See  him  from  nature  rising  slow  to  art ! 
To  copy  instinct  then  was  reason's  part ; 
Thus  then  to  man  the  voice  of  nature  spake — 
"  Go,  from  the  creatures  thy  instructions  take: 
Learn  from  the  birds  what  food  the  thickets  yield; 
Learn  from  the  beasts  the  physic  of  the  field ; 
Thy  arts  of  building  from  the  bee  receive  ; 
Learn  of  the  mole  to  plough,  the  worm  to  weave ; 
Learn  of  the  little  nautilus  to  sail, 
Spread  the  thin  oar,  and  catch  the  driving  gale. 
Here  too  all  forms  of  social  union  find, 
And  hence  let  reason,  late,  instruct  mankind: 
Here  subterranean  works  and  cities  see ; 
There  towns  aerial  on  the  waving  tree. 
Learn  each  small  people's  genius,  policies, 
The  ants'  republic,  and  the  realm  of  bees ; 
How  those  in  common  all  their  wealth  bestow, 
And  anarchy  without  confusion  know ; 
And  these  for  ever,  though  a  monarch  reign, 
Their  separate  cells  and  properties  maintain. 
Mark  what  unvaried  laws  preserve  each  state, 
Laws  wise  as  nature,  and  as  fix'd  as  fate. 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN.  237 

In  vain  thy  reason  finer  webs  shall  draw, 
Entangle  justice  in  her  net  of  law, 
And  right,  too  rigid,  harden  into  wrong, 
Still  for  the  strong  too  weak,  the  weak  too  strong. 
Yet  go !  and  thus  o'er  all  the  creatures  sway, 
Thus  let  the  wiser  make  the  rest  obey ; 
And  for  those  arts  mere  instinct  could  afibrd, 
Be  crown'd  as  monarchs,  or  as  gods  adored." 

V.  Great  Nature  spoke ;  observant  men  obey'd; 
Cities  were  built,  societies  were  made : 

Here  rose  one  little  state ;  another  near 

Grew  by  like  means,  and  join'd  through  love  or  fear. 

Did  here  the  trees  with  ruddier  burthens  bend, 

And  there  the  streams  in  purer  rills  descend  ? 

What  war  could  ravish,  commerce  could  bestow, 

And  he  return 'd  a  friend,  who  came  a  foe. 

Converse  and  love,  mankind  may  strongly  draw, 

When  love  was  liberty,  and  nature  law. 

Thus  states  were  form'd ;  the  name  of  king  unknown, 

Till  common  interest  placed  the  sway  in  one. 

'Twas  VIRTUE  ONLY  (or  in  arts  or  arms, 

Diffusing  blessings,  or  averting  harms) 

The  same  which  in  a  sire  the  sons  obey'd, 

A  prince  the  father  of  a  people  made. 

VI.  Till  then,  by  nature  crown'd,  each  patriarch  sate, 
King,  priest,  and  parent  of  his  growing  state ; 

On  him,  their  second  Providence,  they  hung, 
Their  law  his  eye,  their  oracle  his  tongue. 
He  from  the  wondering  furrow  call'd  the  food, 
Taught  to  command  the  fire,  control  the  flood, 
Draw  forth  the  monsters  of  the  abyss  profound, 
Or  fetch  the  aerial  eagle  to  the  ground. 
Till  drooping,  sickening,  dying,  they  began 
Whom  they  revered  as  God  to  mourn  as  man: 
Then,  looking  up  from  sire  to  sire,  explored 
One  great  first  Father,  and  that  first  adored. 
Or  plain  tradition  that  this  all  begun, 
Convey'd  unbroken  faith  from  sire  to  son ; 
The  worker  from  the  work  distinct  was  known, 
And  simple  reason  never  sought  but  one : 
Ere  wit  oblique  had  broke  that  steady  light, 
Man,  like  his  Maker, saw  that  all  was  right; 
To  virtue,  in  the  paths  of  pleasure  trod, 
And  own'd  a  father  when  he  own'd  a  God. 
22 


238  AN   ESSAY   ON   MAN. 

LOVE  all  the  faith,  and  all  the  allegiance  then; 
For  nature  knew  no  right  divine  in  men, 
No  ill  could  fear  in  God ;  and  understood 
A  sovereign  being  but  a  sovereign  good. 
True  faith, 'true  policy,  united  ran, 
That  was  but  love  of  God,  and  this  of  man. 

Who  first  taught  souls  enslaved,  and  realms  undone, 
The  enormous  faith  of  many  made  for  one ; 
That  proud  exception  to  all  nature's  laws, 
To  invert  the  work  and  counterwork  its  cause  ? 
Force  first  made  conquest,  and  that  conquest  law; 
Till  superstition  taught  the  tyrant  awe, 
Then  shared  the  tyranny,  then  lent  it  aid, 
And  gods  of  conquerors,  slaves  of  subjects  made: 
She  'midst  the  lightning's  blaze,  and  thunder's  sound, 
When  rock'd  the  mountains,  and  when  groan'd  the  ground 
She  taught  the  weak  to  bend,  the  proud  to  pray, 
To  Power  unseen,  and  mightier  far  than  they : 
She,  from  the  rending  earth  and  bursting  skies, 
Saw  gods  descend,  and  fiends  infernal  rise : 
Here  fix'd  the  dreadful,  there  the  blest  abodes: 
Fear  made  her  devils,  and  weak  hope  her  gods; 
Gods  partial,  changeful,  passionate,  unjust, 
Whose  attributes  were  rage,  revenge,  or  lust; 
Such  as  the  souls  of  cowards  might  conceive, 
And,  form'd  like  tyrants,  tyrants  would  believe. 
Zeal  then,  not  charity,  became  the  guide ; 
And  hell  was  built  on  spite,  and  heaven  on  pride. 
Then  sacred  seem'd  the  ethereal  vault  no  more ; 
Altars  grew  marble  then,  and  reek'd  with  gore: 
Then  first  the  Flamen  tasted  living  food ; 
Next  his  grim  idol  smear'd  with  human  blood ; 
With  heaven's  own  thunders  shook  the  world  below, 
And  play'd  the  god  an  engine  on  his  foe. 

So  drives  self-love,  through  just  and  through  unjust, 
To  one  man's  power,  ambition,  lucre,  lust : 
The  same  self-love  in  all,  becomes  the  cause 
Of  what  restrains  him,  government  and  laws. 
For,  what  one  likes  if  others  like  as  well, 
What  serves-  one  will,  when  many  wills  rebel  ? 
How  shall  we  keep,  what,  sleeping  or  awake, 
A  weaker  may  surprise,  a  stronger  take  t 
His  safety  must  his  liberty  restrain : 
All  join  to  guard  what  each  desires  to  gain. 


AN   ESSAY   ON   MAN.  239 

Forced  into  virtue  thus  by  self-defence, 
Even  kings  learn'd  justice  and  benevolence: 
Self-love  forsook  the  path  it  first  pursued, 
And  found  the  private  in  the  public  good. 

'Twas  then,  the  studious  head,  or  generous  mind, 
Follower  of  God,  or  friend  of  human-kind, 
POET  or  PATRIOT,  rose  but  to  restore 
The  faith  and  moral,  nature  gave  before ; 
Re-lumed  her  ancient  light,  not  kindled  new ; 
If  not  God's  image,  yet  his  shadow  drew: 
Taught  power's  due  use  to  people  and  to  kings, 
Taught  nor  to  slack  nor  strain  its  tender  strings, 
The  less,  or  greater,  set  so  justly  true, 
That  touching  one  must  strike  the  other  too  j 
Till  jarring  interests,  of  themselves  create 
The  according  music  of  a  well-mix'd  state. 
Such  is  the  world's  great  harmony,  that  springs 
From  order,  union,  full  consent  of  things : 
Where  small  and  great,  where  weak  and  mighty  made 
To  serve,  not  suffer,  strengthen,  not  invade ; 
More  powerful  each  as  needful  to  the  rest, 
And,  in  proportion  as  it  blesses,  blest ; 
Draw  to  one  point,  and  to  one  centre  bring 
Beast,  man,  or  angel,  servant,  lord,  or  king. 

For  forms  of  government  let  fools  contest ; 
Whate'er  is  best  administer'd  is  best : 
For  modes  of  faith  let  graceless  zealots  fight ; 
His  can't  be  wrong  whose  life  is  in  the  right : 
In  faith  and  hope' the  world  will  disagree, 
But  all  mankind's  concern  is  charity : 
All  must  be  false  that  thwart  this  one  great  end ; 
And  all  of  God,  that  bless  mankind  or  mend. 

Man,  like  the  generous  vine,  supported  lives ; 
The  strength  he  gains  is  from  the  embrace  he  gives. 
On  their  own  axis  as  the  planets  run, 
Yet  make  at  once  their  circle  round  the  sun ; 
So  two  consistent  motions  act  the  soul ; 
And  one  regards  itself,  and  one  the  whole. 

Thus  God  and  Nature  link'd  the  general  frame, 
And  bade  self-love  and  social  be  the  same. 


240  AN    ESSAY    ON   MAN. 

EPISTLE  IV. 
ARGUMENT. 

OF  THE  NATURE   AND  STATE  OF  MAN,  WITH  RESPECT   TO   HAPPINESS. 

I.  False  notions  of  happiness,  philosophical  and  popular,  answered. 
II.  It  is  the  end  of  all  men,  and  attainable  by  all.  God  intends  happi- 
ness to  be  equtil ;  and  to  be  so,  it  must  be  social,  since  all  particular 
happiness  depends  on  general,  and  since  he  governs  by  general,  not 
particular  laws.  As  it  is  necessary  for  order,  and  the  peace  and  welfare 
of  society,  that  external  goods  should  be  unequal,  happiness  is  not  made 
to  consist  in  these.  But,  notwithstanding  that  inequality,  the  balance 
of  happiness  among  mankind  is  kept  even  by  Providence,  by  the  two 
passions  of  hope  and  fear.  III.  What  the  happiness  of  individuals  is,  as 
far  as  is  consistent  with  the  constitution  of  this  world ;  and  that  the 
good  man  has  here  the  advantage.  The  error  of  imputing  to  virtue  what 
are  only  the  calamities  of  nature,  or  of  fortune.  IV.  The  folly  of  ex- 
pecting that  God  should  alter  his  general  laws  in  favour  of  particulars. 
V.  That  we  are  not  judges  who  are  good  ;  but  that  whoever  they  are, 
they  must  be  happiest.  VI.  That  external  goods  are  not  the  proper 
rewards,  but  often  inconsistent  with,  or  destructive  of,  virtue.  That 
even  these  can  make  no  man  happy  without  virtue : — instanced  in 
riches,  honour*,  nobility,  greatness,  fume,  superior  talents,  with  pictures  of 
human  infelicity  in  men  possessed  of  them  all.  VII.  That  virtue  only 
constitutes  a  happiness,  whose  object  is  universal,  and  whose  prospect 
eternal.  That  the  perfection  of  virtue  and  happiness  consists  hi  a  con- 
formity to  the  ORDER  of  PROVIDENCE  here,  and  a  resignation  to  it  here 
and  hereafter. 


I.    O  HAPPINESS  !  our  being's  end  and  aim  ! 
Good,  pleasure,  ease,  content !  whate'er  thy  name : 
That  something  still  which  prompts  the  eternal  sigh, 
For  which  we  bear  to  live,  or  dare  to  die, 
Which  still  so  near  us,  yet  beyond  us  lies, 
O'erlook'd,  seen  double,  by  the  fool,  and  wise. 
Plant  of  celestial  seed !  if  dropp'd  below, 
Say,  in  what  mortal  soil  thou  deigu'st  to  grow  ? 
Fair  opening  to  some  court's  propitious  shrine, 
Or  deep  with  diamonds  in  the  flaming  mine  ? 
Twined  with  the  wreaths  Parnassian  laurels  yield, 
Or  reap'd  in  iron  harvests  of  the  field  ? 
Where  grows  ? — where  grows  it  not  ?     If  vain  our  toil, 
We  ought  to  blame  the  culture,  not  the  soil : 
Fix'd  to  no  spot  is  happiness  sincere, 
Tis  no  where  to  be  found,  or  every  where: 


AN   ESSAY   ON   MAN.  211 

Tis  never  to  be  bought,  but  always  free, 

And  fled  from  monarchs,  ST.  JOHN  !  dwells  with  thee. 

Ask  of  the  learn'd  the  way  1    The  learn'd  are  blind ; 
This  bids  to  serve,  and  that  to  shun  mankind; 
Some  place  the  bliss  in  action,  some  in  ease, 
Those  call  it  pleasure,  and  contentment  these ; 
Some  sunk  to  beasts,  find  pleasure  end  in  pain; 
Some  swell'd  to  gods,  confess  even  virtue  vainl 
Or  indolent,  to  each  extreme  they  fall, 
To  trust  in  every  thing,  or  doubt  of  all. 

Who  thus  define  it,  say  they  more  or  less 
Than  this,  that  happiness  is  happiness  ? 

Take  nature's  path,  and  mad  opinion's  leave ; 
All  states  can  reach  it,  and  all  heads  conceive ; 
Obvious  her  goods,  in  no  extreme  they  dwell ; 
There  needs  but  thinking  right,  and  meaning  well; 
And  mourn  our  various  portions  as  we  please, 
Equal  is  common  sense,  and  common  ease. 

II.  Remember,  man,  "  the  Universal  Cause 
Acts  not  by  partial,  but  by  general  laws :" 
And  makes  what  happiness  we  justly  call 
Subsist  not  in  the  good  of  one,  but  all. 
There's  not  a  blessing  individuals  find, 
But  some  way  leans  and  hearkens  to  the  kind ; 
No  bandit  fierce,  no  tyrant  mad  with  pride, 
No  cavern'd  hermit,  rests  self-satisfied : 
Who  most  to  shun  or  hate  mankind  pretend, 
Seek  an  admirer,  or  would  fix  a  friend : 
Abstract  what  others  feel,  what  others  think, 
All  pleasures  sicken,  and  all  glories  sink: 
Each  has  his  share ;  and  who  would  more  obtain, 
Shall  find,  the  pleasure  pays  not  half  the  pain. 

ORDER  is  Heaven's  first  law ;  and  this  coufest, 
Some  are,  and  must  be,  greater  than  the  rest, 
More  rich,  more  wise ;  but  who  infers  from  henco 
That  such  are  happier,  shocks  all  common  sense. 
Heaven  to  mankind  impartial  we  confess, 
If  all  are  equal  in  their  happiness: 
But  mutual  wants  this  happiness  increase ; 
All  nature's  difference  keeps  all  nature's  peace. 
Condition,  circumstance  is  not  the  thing ; 

In  who  obtain  defence,  or  who  defend, 
In  him  who  is,  or  him  who  finds  a  friend: 
22* 


242  AN   ESSAY   ON   MAN. 

Heaven  breathes  thro'  every  member  of  the  whole 
One  common  blessing,  as  one  common  soul. 
But  Fortune's  gifts  if  each  alike  possest, 
And  each  were  equal,  must  not  all  contest  ? 
If  then  to  all  men  happiness  was  meant, 
God  in  externals  could  not  place  content. 

Fortune  her  gifts  may  variously  dispose, 
And  these  be  happy  call'd,  unhappy  those ; 
But  Heaven's  just  balance  equal  will  appear 
While  those  are  placed  in  hope,  and  these  in  fear: 
Not  present  good  or  ill,  the  joy  or  curse, 
But  future  views  of  better,  or  of  worse. 

Oh  sons  of  earth !  attempt  ye  still  to  rise, 
By  mountains  piled  on  mountains,  to  the  skies  ? 
Heaven  still  with  laughter  the  vain  toil  surveys, 
And  buries  madmen  in  the  heaps  they  raise. 

III.  Know,  all  the  good  that  individuals  find, 
Or  God  and  nature  meant  to  mere  mankind, 
Reason's  whole  pleasure,  all  the  joys  of  sense, 
Lie  in  three  words,  health,  peace,  and  competence. 
But  health  consists  with  temperance  alone ; 
And  peace,  O  virtue !  peace  is  all  thy  own. 
The  good  or  bad  the  gifts  of  fortune  gain ; 
But  these  less  taste  them,  as  they  worse  obtain. 
Say,  in  pursuit  of  profit  or  delight, 
Who  risk  the  most,  that  take  wrong  means,  or  right  ? 
Of  vice  or  virtue,  whether  blest  or  curst, 
Which  meets  contempt,  or  which  compassion  first? 
Count  all  the  advantage  prosperous  vice  attains, 
'Tis  but  what  virtue  flies  from  and  disdains  : 
And  grant  the  bad  what  happiness  they  would, 
One  they  must  want,  which  is,  to  pass  for  good. 

Oh  blind  to  truth,  and  God's  whole  scheme  below, 
Who  fancy  bliss  to  vice,  to  virtue  woe ! 
Who  sees  and  follows  that  great  scheme  the  best, 
Best  knows  the  blessing,  and  will  most  be  blest. 
But  fools,  the  good  alone  unhappy  call, 
For  ills  or  accidents  that  chance  to  all. 
See  FALKLAND  dies,  the  virtuous  and  the  just! 
See  godlike  TURENNE  prostrate  on  the  dust! 
See  SIDNEY  bleeds  amid  the  martial  strife! 
Was  this  their  virtue,  or  contempt  of  life  ? 
Say,  was  it  virtue,  more  though  Heaven  ne'er  gave, 
Lamented  DIGBY!  sunk  thee  to  the  grave? 


AN   ESSAY   OK  MAX.  243 

Tell  me,  if  virtue  made  the  son  expire, 
Why,  full  of  days  and  honour,  lives  the  sire? 
"Why  drew  Marseille's'  good  bishop  purer  breath, 
When  nature  sicken'd,  and  each  gale  was  death? 
Or  why  so  long  (in  life  if  long  can  be) 
Lent  Heaven  a  parent  to  the  poor  and  me  ? 

What  makes  all  physical  or  moral  ill  ? 
There  deviates  nature,  and  here  wanders  wilL 
God  sends  not  ill,  if  rightly  understood ; 
Or  partial  ill  is  universal  good, 
Or  change  admits,  or  nature  lets  it  fall ! 
Short,  and  but  rare,  till  man  improved  it  all. 
We  just  as  wisely  might  of  Heaven  complain 
That  righteous  Abel  was  destroy'd  by  Cain, 
As  that  the  virtuous  son  is  ill  at  ease 
When  his  lewd  father  gave  the  dire  disease.         [Cause, 

IV.  Think  we,  like  some  weak  prince,  the'  Eternal 
Prone  for  his  favourites  to  reverse  his  laws  ? 

Shall  burning  Etna,  if  a  sage  requires, 
Forget  to  thunder,  and  recal  her  fires  ? 
On  air  or  sea  new  motions  be  imprest, 
O  blameless  Bethel,  to  relieve  thy  breast? 
When  the  loose  mountain  trembles  from  on  high, 
Shall  gravitation  cease,  if  you  go  by  ? 
Or  some  old  temple,  nodding  to  its  fall, 
For  Chartres'  head  reserve  the  hanging  wall  ? 

V.  But  still  this  world  (so  fitted  for  the  knave) 
Contents  us  not.     A  better  shall  we  have  ? 

A  kingdom  of  the  just  then  let  it  be: 

But  first  consider  how  those  just  agree. 

The  good  must  merit  God's  peculiar  care; 

But  who,  but  God,  can  tell  us  who  they  are  ? 

One  thinks  on  Calvin  Heaven's  own  spirit  fell; 

Another  deems  him  instrument  of  hell; 

If  Calvin  feel  Heaven's  blessing,  or  its  rod, 

This  cries,  there  is,  and  that,  there  is  no  God. 

What  shocks  one  part  will  edify  the  rest, 

Nor  with  one  system  can  they  all  be  blest, 

The  very  best  will  variously  incline, 

And  what  rewards  your  virtue,  punish  mine. 

WHATEVER  is,  is  RIGHT. — This  world,  'tis  true, 

Was  made  for  Caesar — but  for  Titus  too : 

And  which  more  blest?  who  chain 'd  his  country?  say 

Or  he  whose  virtue  sigh'd  to  lose  a  day.1 


244  AN   ESSAY    ON   MAN. 

"  But  sometimes  virtue  starves,  while  vice  is  fed." 
What  then  ?     Is  the  reward  of  virtue  bread  ? 
That,  vice  may  merit,  'tis  the  price  of  toil ; 
The  knave  deserves  it,  when  he  tills  the  soil, 
The  knave  deserves  it,  when  he  tempts  the  main, 
Where  folly  fights  for  kings,  or  dives  for  gain. 
The  good  man  may  be  weak,  be  indolent; 
Nor  is  his  claim  to  plenty,  but  content. 
But  grant  him  riches,  your  demand  is  o'er  ? 
"  No — shall  the  good  want  health,  the  good  want  power  ?" 
Add  health,  and  power,  and  every  earthly  thing. 
"  Why  bounded  power  ?  why  private  ]  why  no  king  1" 
Nay,  why  external  for  internal  given? 
Why  is  not  man  a  god,  and  earth  a  heaven  ? 
Who  ask  and  reason  thus,  will  scarce  conceive 
God  gives  enough,  while  he  has  more  to  give : 
Immense  the  power,  immense  were  the  demand ; 
Say,  at  what  part  of  nature  will  they  stand  ? 

VI.  What  nothing  earthly  gives,  or  can  destroy, 
The  soul's  calm  sunshine,  and  the  heartfelt  joy, 
Is  virtue's  prize :  A  better  would  you  fix, 
Then  give  Humility  a  coach  and  six, 
Justice  a  conqueror's  sword,  or  Truth  a  gown, 
Or  Public  Spirit  its  great  cure,  a  crown. 
Weak,  foolish  man!  will  Heaven  reward  us  there 
With  the  same  trash  mad  mortals  wish  for  here  I 
The  boy  and  man  an  individual  makes, 
Yet  sigh'st  thou  now  for  apples  and  for  cakes  ? 
Go,  like  the  Indian,  in  another  life 
Expect  thy  dog,  thy  bottle,  and  thy  wife : 
As  well  as  dream  such  trifles  are  assign 'd, 
As  toys  and  empires,  for  a  godlike  mind. 
Rewards,  that  either  would  to  virtue  bring 
No  joy,  or  be  destructive  of  the  thing: 
How  oft  by  these  at  sixty  are  undone 
The  virtues  of  a  saint  at  twenty-one ! 
To  whom  can  riches  give  repute,  or  trust, 
Content,  or  pleasure,  but  the  good  and  just? 
Judges  and  senates  have  been  bought  for  gold, 
Esteem  and  love  were  never  to  be  sold. 
Oh  fool !  to  think  God  hates  the  worthy  mind, 
The  lover  and  the  love  of  human-kind, 
Whose  life  is  healthful,  and  whose  conscience  clear, 
Because  he  wants  a  thousand  pounds  a  year. 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN.  245 

Honour  and  shame  from  no  condition  rise ; 
Act  well  your  part,  there  all  the  honour  lies. 
Fortune  in  men  has  some  small  difference  made, 
One  flaunts  in  rags,  one  flutters  in  brocade ; 
The  cobbler  apron'd,  and  the  parson  gown'd, 
The  friar  hooded,  and  the  monarch  crown'd. 
"  What  differ  more  (you  cry)  than  crown  and  cowl?" 
I'll  tell  you,  friend!  a  wise  man  and  a  fool. 
You'll  find,  if  once  the  monarch  acts  the  monk, 
Or,  cobbler-like,  the  parson  will  be  drunk, 
Worth  makes  the  man,  and  want  of  it  the  fellow ; 
The  rest  is  all  but  leather  or  prunella. 

Stuck  o'er  with  titles,  and  hung  round  with  strings, 
That  thou  may'st  be  by  kings,  or  whores  of  kings, 
Boast  the  pure  blood  of  an  illustrious  race, 
In  quiet  flow  from  Lucrece  to  Lucrece: 
But  by  your  fathers'  worth  if  yours  you  rate, 
Count  me  those  only  who  were  good  and  great. 
Go !  if  your  ancient,  but  ignoble  blood 
Has  crept  through  scoundrels  ever  since  the  flood, 
Go !  and  pretend  your  family  is  young ; 
Nor  own,  youi-  fathers  have  been  foob  so  long. 
What  can  ennoble  sots,  or  slaves,  or  cowards? 
Alas!  not  all  the  blood  of  all  the  HOWARDS. 

Look  next  on  greatness!  say  where  greatness  lies? 
"  Where,  but  among  the  heroes  and  the  wise?" 
Heroes  are  much  the  same,  the  point's  agreed, 
From  Macedonia's  madman  to  the  Swede ; 
The  whole  strange  purpose  of  their  lives,  to  find 
Or  make,  an  enemy  of  all  mankind ! 
Not  one  looks  backward,  onward  still  he  goes, 
Yet  ne'er  looks  forward  further  than  his  nose. 
No  less  alike  the  politic  and  wise ; 
All  sly  slow  things,  with  circumspective  eyes : 
Men  in  their  loose  unguarded  hours  -they  take, 
Not  that  themselves  are  wise,  but  others  weak. 
But  grant  that  those  can  conquer,  these  can  cheat ; 
'Tis  phrase  absurd  to  call  a  villain  great: 
Who  wickedly  is  wise,  or  madly  brave, 
Is  but  the  more  a  fool,  the  more  a  knave. 
Who  noble  ends  by  noble  means  obtains, 
Or  failing,  smiles  in  exile  or  in  chains, 
Like  good  Aurelius  let  him  reign,  or  bleed 
Like  Socrates  that  man  is  great  indeed. 


246  AN   ESSAY   ON  MAN. 

What's  fame?  a  fancied  life  in  others'  breath, 
A  thing  beyond  us,  e'en  before  our  death. 
Just  what  you  hear,  you  have,  and  what's  unknown 
The  same  (my  lord)  if  Tully's,  or  your  own. 
All  that  we  feel  of  it  begins  and  ends 
In  the  small  circle  of  our  foes  or  friends ; 
To  all  beside  as  much  an  empty  shade 
A  Eugene  living,  as  a  Caesar  dead ; 
Alike  or  when,  or  where,  they  shone,  or  shine, 
Or  on  the  Rubicon,  or  on  the  Bhine. 
A  wit's  a  feather,  and  a  chief  a  rod ; 
An  honest  man's  the  noblest  work  of  God. 
Fame  but  from  death  a  villain's  name  can  save, 
As  justice  tears  his  body  from  the  grave ; 
"When  what  to  oblivion  better  were  resign'd, 
Is  hung  on  high,  to  poison  half  mankind. 
All  fame  is  foreign,  but  of  true  desert ; 
Plays  round  the  head,  but  comes  not  to  the  heart: 
One  self-approving  hour  whole  years  outweighs 
Of  stupid  starers,  and  of  loud  huzzas ; 
And  more  true  joy  Marcellus  exiled  feels, 
Than  Csesar  with  a  senate  at  his  heels. 

In  parts  superior  what  advantage  lies  ? 
Tell  (for  you  can)  what  is  it  to  be  wise? 
'Tis  but  to  know  how  little  can  be  known; 
To  see  all  others'  faults,  and  feel  our  own : 
Condemn'd  in  business  or  in  arts  to  drudge, 
Without  a  second,  or  without  a  judge : 
Truths  would  you  teach,  or  save  a  sinking  land  ? 
All  tear,  none  aid  you,  and  few  understand. 
Painful  pre-eminence !  yourself  to  view 
Above  life's  weakness,  and  its  comforts  too. 

Bring  then  these  blessings  to  a  strict  account: 
Make  fair  deductions ;  see  to  what  they  mount ; 
How  much  of  other  each  is  sure  to  costs 
How  each  for  other  oft  is  wholly  lost, 
How  inconsistent  greater  goods  with  these ; 
How  sometimes  life  is  risk'd,  and  always  ease:  ' 
Think,  and  if  still  the  things  thy  envy  call, 
Say,  would'st  tliou  be  the  man  to  whom  they  fall 
To  sigh  for  ribands  if  thou  art  so  silly, 
Mark  how  they  grace  Lord  Umbra,  or  Sir  Billy. 
Is  yellow  dirt  the  passion  of  thy  life  ? 
Look  but  on  Gripus,  or  on  Gripus'  wife. 


A>*    ESSAY    ON   MAN.  247 

If  parts  allure  thee,  think  how  Bacon  shjned, 

The  wisest,  brightest,  meanest  of  mankind: 

Or  ravish'd  with  the  whistling  of  a  name, 

See  Cromwell,  damn'd  to  everlasting  lame! 

If  all,  \mited,  thy  ambition  call, 

From  ancient  story  learn  to  scorn  them  all. 

There,  in  the  rich,  the  honour'd,  fam'd,  and  great, 

See  the  false  scale  of  happiness  complete ! 

In  hearts  of  kings,  or  arms  of  queens  who  lay 

How  happy!  those  to  ruin,  these  betray. 

Mark  by  what  wretched  steps  their  glory  grows, 

From  dirt  and  sea-weed  as  proud  Venice  rose ; 

In  each  how  guilt  and  greatness  equal  ran, 

And  all  that  raised  the  hero,  sunk  the  man : 

Now  Europe's  laurels  on 'their  brows  behold, 

But  stain'd  with  blood,  or  ill  exchanged  for  gold : 

Then  see  them  broke  with  toils,  or  sunk  in  ease, 

Or  infamous  for  plunder'd  provinces. 

O  wealth  ill-fated!  which  no  act  of  fame 

E'er  taught  to  shine,  or  sanctified  from  shame ! 

What  greater  bliss  attends  their  close  of  life  ? 

Some  greedy  minion,  or  imperious  wife, 

The  trophied  arches,  storied  halls  invade, 

And  haunt  their  slumbers  in  the  pompous  shade. 

Alas !  not  dazzled  with  their  noontide  ray, 

Compute  the  morn  and  evening  to  the  day ; 

The  whole  amount  of  that  enormous  fame, 

A  tale,  that  blends  their  glory  with  their  shame ! 

VII.  Know  then  this  truth  (enough  for  man  to  know), 
u  Virtue  alone  is  happiness  below." 
The  only  point  where  human  bliss  stands  still, 
And  tastes  the  good  without  the  fall  to  ill; 
"Where  only  merit  constant  pay  receives, 
Is  blest  in  what  it  takes,  and  what  it  gives ; 
The  joy  unequall  d,  if  its  end  it  gain,  •  ' 

And  if  it  lose,  attended  with  no  pain: 
Without  satiety,  though  e'er  so  blest, 
And  but  more  relish 'd  as  the  more  distress'd: 
The  broadest  mirth  unfeeling  folly  wears, 
Less  pleasing  far  than  virtue's  very  tears: 
Good,  from  each  object,  from  each  place  acquired, 
For  ever  exercised,  yet  never  tired ; 
Never  elated,  while  one  man's  onpress'd ; 
Never  dejected,  while  another's  bless'd; 


248  AN   ESSAY  ON   MAX. 

And  where  no  wants,  no  wishes  can  remain, 
Since  but  to  wish  more  virtue,  is  to  gain. 

See  the  sole  bliss  Heaven  could  on  all  bestow ! 
Which  who  but  feels  can  taste,  but  thinks  can  know : 
Yet  poor  with  fortune,  and  with  learning  blind, 
The  bad  must  miss ;  the  good,  untaught,  will  find ; 
Slave  to  no  sect,  who  takes  no  private  road, 
But  looks  through  Nature  up  to  Nature's  God ; 
Pursues  that  chain  which  links  the  immense  design, 
Joins  heaven  and  earth,  and  mortal  and  divine ; 
Sees,  that  no  being  any  bliss  can  know, 
But  touches  some  above,  and  some  below ; 
Learns  from  this  union  of  the  rising  whole, 
The  first,  last  purpose  of  the  human  soul ; 
And  knows  where  faith,  law,  morals,  all  began, 
All  end,  in  LOVE  OF  GOD,  and  LOVE  OF  MAN. 

For  him  alone,  Hope  leads  from  goal  to  goal, 
And  opens  still,  and  opens  on  his  soul ; 
Till  lengthen'd  on  to  FAITH,  and  unconfined, 
It  pours  the  bliss  that  fills  up  all  the  mind. 
He  sees,  why  nature  plants  in  man  alone 
Hope  of  known  bliss,  and  faith  in  bliss  unknown: 
(Nature,  whose  dictates  to  no  other  kind 
Are  given  in  vain,  but  what  they  seek  they  find) 
Wise  is  her  present ;  she  connects  in  this 
His  greatest  virtue  with  his  greatest  bliss ; 
At  once  his  own  bright  prospect  to  be  blest, 
And  strongest  motive  to  assist  the  rest. 

Self-love  thus  push'd  to  social,  to  divine, 
Gives  thee  to  make  thy  neighbour's  blessing  thine. 
Is  this  too  little  for  the  boundless  heart  1 
Extend  it,  let  thy  enemies  have  part : 
Grasp  the  whole  world  of  reason,  life,  and  sense, 
In  one  close  system  of  benevolence : 
Happier  as  kinder,  in  whate'er  degree. 
And  height  of  bliss  but  height  of  charity. 

God  loves  from  whole  to  parts :  but  human  soul 
Must  rise  from  individual  to  the  whole. 
Self-love  but  serves  the  virtuous  mind  to  wake, 
As  the  small  pebble  stirs  the  peaceful  lake ; 
The  centre  moved,  a  circle  straight  succeeds, 
Another  still,  and  still  another  spreads ; 
Friend,  parent,  neighbour,  first  it  will  embrace; 
His  country  next,  and  next  all  human  race ; 


THE    UNIVERSAL    PRAYER.  249 

Wide,  and  more  wide,  the'  o'erflowings  of  the  mind 
Take  every  creature  in,  of  every  kind ; 
Earth  smiles  around,  with  boundless  bounty  blest, 
And  Heaven  beholds  its  image  in  his  breast. 

Come  then,  my  friend  !  my  genius !  come  along; 
O  master  of  the  poet,  and  the  song ! 
And  while  the  muse  now  stoops,  or  now  ascends, 
To  man's  low  passions,  or  their  glorious  ends, 
Teach  me,  like  thee,  in  various  nature  wise, 
To  fall  with  dignity,  with  temper  rise ; 
Form'd  by  thy  converse,  happily  to  steer 
From  grave  to  gay,  from  lively  to  severe ; 
Correct  with  spirit,  eloquent  with  ease, 
Intent  to  reason,  or  polite  to  please. 
Oh  !  while  along  the  stream  of  time  thy  name 
Expanded  flies,  and  gathers  all  its  fame ; 
Say,  shall  my  little  bark  attendant  sail, 
Pursue  the  triumph,  and  partake  the  gale  ?       ^ 
When  statesmen,  heroes,  kings,  in  dust  repose, 
Whose  sons  shall  blush  their  fathers  were  thy  foes 
Shall  then  this  verse  to  future  age  pretend 
Thou  wert  my  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend ! 
That  urged  by  thee,  I  turn'd  the  tuneful  art 
From  sounds  to  things,  from  fancy  to  the  heart; 
For  wit's  false  mirror  held  up  Nature's  light; 
Show'd  erring  pride,  WHATEVER  is,  is  RIGHT; 
That  REASON,  PASSION,  answer  one  great  aim ; 
That  true  SELF-LOVE  and  SOCIAL  are  the  same; 
That  VIRTUE  only  makes  our  bliss  below; 
And  all  our  knowledge  is,  OURSELVES  TO  KNOW. 


THE  UNIVERSAL  PRAYER. 

FATHER  of  all !  in  every  age, 

In  every  clime  adored, 
By  saint,  by  savage,  and  by  sage, 

Jehovah,  Jove,  or  Lord ! 

Thou  great  First  Cause,  least  understood, 

Who  all  my  sense  confined 
To  know  but  this,  that  Thou  art  good, 

And  that  myself  am  blind ; 
23 


250  THE   UNIVERSAL   PRAYEB. 

Yet  gave  me,  in  this  dark  estate, 
To  see  the  good  from  ill ; 

And  binding  nature  fast  in  fate, 
Left  free  the  human  will. 

What  conscience  dictates  to  be  done, 

Or  warns  me  not  to  do, 
This,  teach  me  more  than  hell  to  shun, 

That,  more  than  heaven  pursue. 

What  blessings  thy  free  bounty  gives, 

Let  me  not  cast  away ; 
For  God  is  paid  when  man  receives, 

To  enjoy  is  to  obey. 

Yet  not  to  earth's  contracted  span 
Thy  goodness  let  me  bound, 

Or  think  thee  Lord  alone  of  man, 
When  thousand  worlds  are  round: 

Let  not  this  weak,  unknowing  hand 
Presume  thy  bolts  to  throw, 

And  deal  damnation  round  the  land 
Oil  each  I  judge  thy  foe. 

If  I  am  right,  thy  grace  impart, 
Still  in  the  right  to  stay ; 

If  I  am  wrong,  oh  teach  my  heart 
To  find  that  better  way  ! 

Save  me  alike  from  foolish  pride, 

Or  impious  discontent, 
At  aught  thy  wisdom  has  denied, 

Or  aught  thy  goodness  lent. 

Teach  me  to  feel  another's  woe, 

To  hide  the  fault  I  see ; 
That  mercy  I  to  others  show, 

That  mercy  show  to  me. 

Mean  though  I  am,  not  wholly  so, 
Since  quicken'd  by  thy  breath ; 

Oh  lead  me  wheresoe'er  I  go, 
Through  this  day's  life  or  death  ! 

This  day,  be  bread  and  peace  my  lot: 
All  else  beneath  the  sun, 

Thou  know'st  if  best  bestow'd  or  not, 
And  let  Thy  will  be  done. 


MORAL   ESSAYS.  251 

To  thee,  whose  temple  is  all  space, 

Whose  altar,  earth,  sea,  skies ! 
One  chorus  let  all  Being  raise ! 

All  Nature's  incense  rise ! 


MORAL  ESSAYS, 

IJT 
FOUR  EPISTLES  TO  SEVERAL  PERSONS. 


Est  brevitate  opus,  ut  currat  sententia,  neu  se 
Impediat  verbis  lassis  onerantibus  aures  : 
Et  sennone  opus  est  raodo  tristi,  saepe  jocoso, 
Defendente  vicem  modo  Khetoris  atque  Poetse 
Interdum  urbani,  parcentis  viribus,  atque 
Extenuantis  eas  consultd.  HOB. 


EPISTLE   I. 
TO  SIR  RICHARD  TEMPLE,  LORD  COBHA5I. 

ARGUMENT. 

OF  THE  KNOWLEDGE  AND  CHARACTERS  OF  MEN. 

I.  That  it  is  not  sufficient  for  this  knowledge  to  consider  man  in  the 
abstract;  books  will  not  serve  the  purpose,  nor  yet  our  own  experience 
singly.  General  maxims,  unless  they  be  formed  upon  both,  will  be  but 
notional.  Some  peculiarity  in  every  man,  characteristic  to  himself,  yet 
varying  from  himself.  Difficulties  arising  from  our  own  passions,  fancies, 
faculties,  &c.  The  shortness  of  life,  to  observe  in,  and  the  uncertainty 
of  the  principle*  of  action  in  men,  to  observe  by.  Our  own  principle  of 
action  often  hid  from  ourselves.  Some  few  characters  plain,  but  in 
general  confounded,  dissembled,  or  inconsistent.  The  same  man  utterly 
different  in  different  places  and  seasons.  Unimaginable  weaknesses  in  the 
greatest.  Nothing  constant  and  certain  but  Hod  and  nature.  No 
judging  of  the  motires  from  the  actions  ;  the  same  actions  proceeding 
from  contrary  motives,  and  the  same  motives  influencing  contrary 
actions.  II.  Yet  to  form  characters,  we  can  only  take  the  strongest 
actions  of  a  man's  life,  and  try  to  make  them  agree :  the  utter  uncer- 
tainty of  this,  from  nature  itself,  and  from  policy.  Character!  given 
according  to  the  rank  of  men  of  the  world.  And  some  reason  for  it. 
Education  alters  the  nature,  or  at  least  the  character,  of  many.  Action* 
patsioni,  opinions,  manners,  humours,  or  principles,  all  subject  to  change. 
No  judging  by  nature.  III.  It  only  remains  to  find  (if  we  can)  his 
BCLING  PASSION  :  that  will  certainly  influence  all  the  rest,  and  can 


252  MORAL   ESSAYS. 

reconcile  the  seeming  or  real  inconsistency  of  all  his  actions.  Instanced 
in  the  extraordinary  character  of  Clodio.  A  caution  against  mistaking 
second  qualities  for  first,  which  will  destroy  all  po<sibil  fy  of  the  know- 
ledge of  mankind.  Examples  of  the  strength  of  the  ruling  passion,  and 
its  continuation  to  the  last  breath. 


I.  YES,  you  despise  the  man  to  books  confined, 
Who  from  his  study  rails  at  human  kind ; 
Tho'  what  he  learns  he  speaks,  and  may  advance 
Some  general  maxims,  or  be  right  by  chance. 
The  coxcomb  bird,  so  talkative  and  grave, 
That  from  his  cage  cries  cuckold,  whore,  and  knave, 
Though  many  a  passenger  he  rightly  call, 
You  hold  him  no  philosopher  at  all. 

And  yet  the  fate  of  all  extremes  is  such, 
Men  may  be  read,  as  well  as  books,  too  much. 
To  observations  which  ourselves  we  make, 
We  grow  more  partial  for  the  observer's  sake ; 
To  written  wisdom,  as  another's,  less : 
Maxims  are  drawn  from  notions,  those  from  guesa 
There's  some  peculiar  in  each  leaf  and  grain, 
Some  unmark'd  fibre,  or  some  varying  vein : 
Shall  only  man  be  taken  in  the  gross  ? 
Grant  but  as  many  sorts  of  mind  as  moss. 

That  each  from  other  differs,  first  confess ; 
Next  that  he  varies  from  himself  no  less : 
Add  nature's,  custom's,  reason's,  passion's  strife, 
And  all  opinion's  colours  cast  on  life. 

Our  depths  who  fathoms,  or  our  shallows  finds, 
Quick  whirls,  and  shifting  eddies,  of  our  minds  ? 
On  human  actions  reason  though  you  can, 
It  may  be  reason,  but  it  is  not  man : 
His  principle  of  action  once  explore, 
That  instant  'tis  his  principle  no  more. 
Like  following  life  through  creatures  you  dissect, 
You  lose  it  in  the  moment  you  detect. 

Yet  more ;  the  difference  is  as  great  between 
The  optics  seeing,  as  the  objects  seen. 
All  manners  take  a  tincture  from  our  own 
Or  come  discolour'd  through  our  passions  shown. 
Or  fancy's  beam  enlarges,  multiplies, 
Contracts,  inverts,  and  gives  ten  thousand  dies. 

Nor  will  life's  stream  for  observation  stay, 
It  hurries  all  too  fast  to  mark  their  way: 


MORAL   ESSAYS.  253 

In  vain  sedate  reflections  we  would  make, 

When  half  our  knowledge  we  must  snatch,  not  take. 

Oft,  in  the  passions'  wide  rotation  toss'd, 

Our  spring  of  action  to  ourselves  is  lost; 

Tired,  not  determined,  to  the  last  we  yield, 

And  what  comes  then  is  master  of  the  field. 

As  the  last  image  of  the  troubled  heap, 

When  sense  subsides,  and  fancy  sports  in  sleep, 

(Though  past  the  recollection  of  the  thought) 

Becomes  the  stuff  of  which  our  dream  is  wrought : 

Something  as  dim  to  our  internal  view, 

Is  thus,  perhaps,  the  cause  of  most  we  do. 

True,  some  are  open,  and  to  all  men  known; 
Others  so  very  close,  they're  hid  from  none ; 
(So  darkness  strikes  the  sense  no  less  than  light) 
Thus  gracious  CHANDOS  is  beloved  at  sight; 
And  every  child  hates  Shylock,  though  his  soul 
Still  sits  at  squat,  and  peeps  not  from  its  hole. 
At  half  mankind  when  generous  MANLY  raves, 
All  know  'tis  virtue,  for  he  thinks  them  knaves: 
When  universal  homage  Umbra  pays, 
All  see  'tis  vice,  and  itch  of  vulgar  praise. 
When  flattery  glares,  all  hate  it  in  a  queen, 
While  one  there  is  who  charms  us  with  his  spleen. 

But  these  plain  characters  we  rarely  find ; 
Though  strong  the  bent,  yet  quick  the  turns  of  mind: 
Or  puzzling  contraries  confound  the  whole ; 
Or  affectations  quite  reverse  the  soul. 
The  dull,  flat  falsehood  serves  for  policy;  ' 
And  in  the  cunning,  truth  itself 's  a  lie : 
Unthought-of  frailties  cheat  us  hi  the  wisej 
The  fool  lies  hid  in  inconsistencies. 

See  the  same  man,  in  vigour,  in  the  gout; 
Alone,  in  company ;  in  place,  or  out ; 
Early  at  business,  and  at  hazard  late ; 
Mad  at  a  fox-chase,  wise  at  a  debate ; 
Drunk  at  a  borough,  civil  at  a  ball; 
Friendly  at  Hackney,  faithless  at  Whitehall ! 

Catius  is  ever  moral,  ever  grave, 
Thinks  who  endures  a  knave,  is  next  a  knave, 
Save  just  at  dinner — then  prefers,  no  doubt, 
A  rogue  with  venison  to  a  saint  without. 

Who  would  not  praise  Patritio's  high  desert 
His  hand  unstain'd,  his  uncorrupted  heart, 

23* 


254  MORAL    ESSAYS. 

His  comprehensive  head !  all  interests  weigh'd, 
All  Europe  saved,  yet  Britain  not  betray'd  ? 
He  thanks  you  not,  his  pride  is  in  piquet, 
Newmarket  fame,  and  judgment  at  a  bet. 

What  made  (say  Montaigne,  or  more  sage  Charron!) 
Otho  a  warrior,  Cromwell  a  buffoon  1 
A  perjured  prince  a  leaden  saint  revere,1 
A  godless  regent  tremble  at  a  star?2 
The  throne  a  bigot  keep,  a  genius  quit,3 
Faithless  through  piety,  and  duped  through  wit? 
Europe  a  woman,  child,  or  dotard  rule, 
And  just  her  wisest  monarch  made  a  fool? 

Know,  GOD  and  NATURE  only  are  the  same: 
In  man,  the  judgment  shoots  at  flying  game; 
A  bird  of  passage !  gone  as  soon  as  found ; 
Now  in  the  moon  perhaps,  now  under  ground. 

II.  In  vain  the  sage,  with  retrospective  eye, 
Would  from  the  apparent  what  conclude  the  why, 
Infer  the  motive  from  the  deed,  and  show, 
That  what  we  chanced  was  what  we  meant  to  do. 
Behold!  if  fortune  or  a  mistress  frowns, 
Some  plunge  in  business,  others  shave  their  crowns : 
To  ease  the  soul  of  one  oppressive  weight, 
This  quits  an  empire,  that  embroils  a  state: 
The  same  adust  complexion  has  impell'd 
Charles  to  the  convent,  Philip  to  the  field. 

Not  always  actions  show  the  man  :  we  find 
Who  does  a  kindness,  is  not  therefore  kind; 
Perhaps  prosperity  becalm'd  his  breast; 
Perhaps  the  wind  just  shifted  from  the  east: 
Not  therefore  humble  he  who  seeks  retreat, 
Pride  guides  his  steps,  and  bids  him  shun  the  great. 
Who  combats  bravely,  is  not  therefore  brave, 
He  dreads  a  death-bed  like  the  meanest  slave ; 
Who  reasons  wisely,  is  not  therefore  wise, 
His  pride  in  reasoning,  not  in  acting  lies. 

1  Louis  XI.  of  France  wore  in  his  hat  a  leaden  image  of  the  Virgin 
Mary,  which,  when  he  swore  by,  he  feared  to  break  his  oath. 

2  Philip,  duke  of  Orleans,  regent  in  the  minority  of  Louis  XV.,  super- 
stitious in  judicial  astrology,  though  an  unbeliever  in  all  religion 

3  Philip  V.  of  Spain,  who,  after  renouncing  the  throne  for  religion, 
resumed  it  to  gratify  his  queen  ;  and   Victor  Amadeus  II.,  king  of 
Sardinia,  who  resigned  the  crown,  and  trying  to  re-assume  it,  was  im- 
prisoned till  his  death. 


MORAL   ESSAYS.  255 

But  grant  that  actions  best  discover  man ; 
Take  the  most  strong,  and  sort  them  as  you  can. 
The  few  that  glare  each  character  must  mark, 
You  balance  not  the  many  in  the  dark. 
What  will  you  do  with  such  as  disagree  ? 
Suppress  them,  or  miscal  them  policy  ? 
Must  then  at  once  (the  character  to  save) 
The  plain  rough  hero  turn  a  crafty  knave  ? 
Alas !  in  truth  the  man  but  changed  his  mind, 
Perhaps  was  sick,  in  love,  or  had  not  dined. 
Ask  why  from  Britain  Caesar  would  retreat? 
Caesar  himself  might  whisper  he  was  beat. 
Why  risk  the  world's  great  empire  for  a  punk  ? 
Caesar  perhaps  might  answer  he  was  drunk. 
But,  sage  historians !  'tis  your  task  to  prove 
One  action,  conduct,  one  heroic  love. 
Tis  from  high  life  high  characters  are  drawn ; 
A  saint  in  crape  is  twice  a  saint  in  lawn ; 
A  judge  is  just,  a  chancellor  juster  still; 
A  gown-man  learn'd ;  a  bishop,  what  you  will ; 
Wise,  if  a  minister  ;  but,  if  a  king, 
More  wise,  more  learn'd,  more  just,  more  everything. 
Court-virtues  bear,  like  gems,  the  highest  rate, 
Born  where  Heaven's  influence  scarce  can  penetrate : 
In  life's  low  vale,  the  soil  the  virtues  like, 
They  please  as  beauties,  here  as  wonders  strike. 
Though  the  same  sun  with  all-diffusive  rays 
Blush  in  the  rose,  and  in  the  diamond  blaze, 
We  prize  the  stronger  effort  of  his  power, 
And  justly  set  the  gem  above  the  flower. 

'Tis  education  forms  the  common  mind, 
Just  as  the  twig  is  bent,  the  tree's  inclined. 
Boastful  and  rough,  your  first  son  is  a  squire ; 
The  next  a  tradesman,  meek,  and  much  a  liar; 
Tom  struts  a  soldier,  open,  bold,  and  brave ; 
Will  sneaks  a  scrivener,  an  exceeding  knave: 
Is  he  a  churchman? — then  he's  fond  of  power: 
A  quaker? — sly:  a  presbyterian  1 — sour: 
A  smart  freethinker  ? — all  things  in  an  hour. 
Ask  men's  opinions :  Scoto  now  shall  tell 
How  trade  increases,  and  the  world  goes  well; 
Strike  oft  his  pension,  by  the  setting  sun, 
And  Britain,  if  not  Europe,  is  undone. 


256  MORAL   ESSAYS. 

That  gay  freethinker,  a  fine  talker  once, 
What  turns  him  now  a  stupid  silent  dunce? 
Some  god,  or  spirit,  he  has  lately  found, 
Or  chanced  to  meet  a  minister  that  frown'd. 

Judge  we  by  nature  1 — habit  can  efface, 
Interest  o'ercome,  or  policy  take  place : 
By  actions  ? — those  uncertainty  divides : 
By  passions? — those  dissimulation  hides: 
Opinions  ? — they  still  take  a  wider  range : 
Find,  if  you  can,  in  what  you  cannot  change. 

Manners  with  fortunes,  humours  turn  with  climes, 
Tenets  with  books,  and  principles  with  times. 

III.  Search  then  the  RULING  PASSION  :  there,  alone, 
The  wild  are  constant,  and  the  cunning  known ; 
The  fool  consistent,  and  the  false  sincere ; 
Priests,  princes,  women,  no  dissemblers  here. 
This  clue  once  found,  unravels  all  the  rest, 
The  prospect  clears,  and  WHARTON  stands  confest. 
Wharton,  the  scorn  and  wonder  of  our  days, 
Whose  ruling  passion  was  the  lust  of  praise : 
Born  with  whate'er  could  win  it  from  the  wise, 
Women  and  fools  must  like  him,  or  he  dies  ; 
Though  wondering  senates  hung  on  all  he  spoke, 
The  club  must  hail  him  master  of  the  joke. 
Shall  parts  so  various  aim  at  nothing  new  ? 
He'll  shine  a  Tully  and  a  Wilmot  too. 
Then  turns  repentant,  and  his  God  adores 
With  the  same  spirit  that  he  drinks  and  whores  j 
Enough,  if  all  around  him  but  admire, 
And  now  the  punk  applaud,  and  now  the  friar. 
Thus  with  each  gift  of  nature  and  of  art, 
And  wanting  nothing  but  an  honest  heart; 
Grown  all  to  all,  from  no  one  vice  exempt; 
And  most  contemptible  to  shun  contempt ; 
His  passion  still,  to  covet  general  praise, 
His  life,  to  forfeit  it  a  thousand  ways ; 
A  constant  bounty  which  no  friend  has  made ; 
An  angel  tongue,  which  no  man  can  persuade! 
A  fool,  with  more  of  wit  than  half  mankind, 
Too  rash  for  thought,  for  action  too  refined: 
A  tyrant  to  the  wife  his  heart  approves; 
A  rebel  to  the  very  king  he  loves; 
He  dies,  sad  outcast  of  each  church  and  state, 
And,  harder  still !  flagitious,  yet  not  great ! 


MORAL   ESSAYS.  257 

Ask  you  why  Wharton  broke  through  every  rule  ? 
'Twas  all  for  fear  the  knaves  should  call  him  fooL 

Nature  well  known,  no  prodigies  remain, 
Comets  are  regular,  and  WHARTON  plain. 

Yet,  in  this  search,  the  wisest  may  mistake, 
If  second  qualities  for  first  they  take. 
When  Catiline  by  rapine  swell'd  his  store; 
When  Caesar  made  a  noble  dame  a  whore ; 
In  this  the  lust,  in  that  the  avarice 
Were  means,  not  ends;  ambition  was  the  vice. 
That  very  Caesar,  born  in  Scipio's  days, 
Had  aim'd,  like  him,  by  chastity  at  praise. 
Lucullus,  when  frugality  could  charm, 
Had  roasted  turnips  in  the  Sabine  farm. 
In  vain  the  observer  eyes  the  builder's  toil, 
But  quite  mistakes  the  scaffold  for  the  pile. 

In  this  one  passion  man  can  strength  enjoy, 
As  fits  give  vigour,  just  when  they  destroy. 
Time,  that  on  all  things  lays  his  lenient  hand, 
Yet  tames  not  this ;  it  sticks  to  our  last  sand. 
Consistent  in  our  follies  and  our  sins, 
Here  honest  nature  ends  as  she  begins. 

Old  politicians  chew  on  wisdom  past, 
And  totter  on  in  business  to  the  last ; 
As  weak,  as  earnest ;  and  as  gravely  out, 
As  sober  Lanesb'row  dancing  in  the  gout. 

Behold  a  reverend  sire,  whom  want  of  grace 
Has  made  the  father  of  a  nameless  race, 
Shoved  from  the  wall  perhaps,  or  rudely  press'd 
By  his  own  son,  that  passes  by  unbless'd : 
Still  to  his  wench  he  crawls  on  knocking  knees, 
And  envies  every  sparrow  that  he  sees. 

A  salmon's  belly,  Helluo,  was  thy  fate ; 
The  doctor  call'd,  declares  all  help  too  late: 
"Mercy!"  cries  Helluo,  "  mercy  on  my  soul ; 
Is  there  no  hope? — Alas! — then  bring  the  jowl." 

The  frugal  crone,  whom  praying  priests  attend, 
Still  tries  to  save  the  hallow'd  taper's  end, 
Collects  her  breath,  as  ebbing  life  retires, 


"  Odious  !  in  woollen !  'twould  a  saint  provoke," 
(Were  the  last  words  that  poor  Narcissa  spoke  ;) 
"  No,  let  a  charming  chintz  and  Brussels  lace 
Wrap  my  cold  limbs,  and  shade  my  lifeless  face : 


258  MORAL   ESSAYS. 

One  would  not,  sure,  be  frightful  when  one's  dead — 
And — Betty — give  this  cheek  a  little  red." 

The  courtier  smooth,  who  forty  years  had  shined 
An  humble  servant  to  all  human  kind, 
Just  brought  out  this,  when  scarce  his  tongue  could  stir 
«  jf — where  I'm  going — I  could  serve  you,  Sir  1n 

"  I  give  and  I  devise"  (old  Euclio  said, 
And  sigh'd)  "  my  lands  and  tenements  to  Ned." 
Your  money,  Sir  1  "  My  money,  Sir !  what  all  ? 
Why, — if  I  must — (then  wept)  I  give  it  Paul." 
The  manor,  Sir? — "  The  manor!  hold,"  he  cried, 
"  Not  that, — I  cannot  part  with  that" — and  died. 

And  you,  brave  COBHAM  !  to  the  latest  breath, 
Shall  feel  your  ruling  passion  strong  in  death : 
Such  in  those  moments  as  in  all  the  past ; 
"  Oh,  save  my  country,  Heaven !"  shall  be  your  last. 


EPISTLE  II. 
TO  A  LADY. 

ARGUMENT. 

OF  THE  CHARACTERS  OF  WOMEN. 

That  the  particular  characters  of  women  are  not  so  strongly  marked 
as  those  of  men,  seldom  so  fixed,  and  still  more  inconsistent  with  them- 
selves.— Instances  of  contrarieties  given,  even  from  such  characters  as 
are  more  strongly  marked,  and  seemingly,  therefore,  most  consistent : 
as,  1.  In  the  affected.— 2.  In  the  soft-natured.— 3.  In  the  cunning  and 
artful. — 4.  In  the  whimsical.— 5.  In  the  lewd  and  vicious. — 6.  In  the 
witty. and  refined. — 7.  In  the  stupid  and  simple. — The  former  part 
having  shown  that  the  particular  characters  of  women  are  more  various 
than  those  of  men,  it  is  nevertheless  observed  that  the  general  charac- 
teristic of  the  sex,  as  to  the  ruling  passion,  is  more  uniform. — This  is 
occasioned  partly  by  their  nature,  partly  by  their  education,  and  in 
some  degree  by  necessity — What  are  the  aims  and  the  fate  of  this  sex: 
—1.  As  to  power. — 2.  As  to  pleasure. — Advice  for  their  true  interest. 
— The  picture  of  an  estimable  woman,  with  the  best  kind  of  contra- 
rieties. 

NOTHING  so  true  as  what  you  once  let  fall, 
"  Most  women  have  no  characters  at  all." 
Matter  too  soft  a  lasting  mark  to  bear, 
And  best  distinguish'd  by  black,  brown,  or  fair. 
How  many  pictures  of  one  nymph  we  view, 
All  how  unlike  each  other,  all  how  true! 


MORAL   ESSAYS.  259 

Arcadia's  countess,  here,  in  ermined  pride, 

Is  there,  Pastora  by  a  fountain  side. 

Here  Fannia,  leering  on  her  own  good  man, 

And  there,  a  naked  Leda  with  a  swan. 

Let  then  the  fair-one  beautifully  cry, 

In  Magdalen's  loose  hair  and  lifted  eye 

Or  dress'd  in  smiles  of  sweet  Cecilia  shine, 

With  simpering  angels,  palms,  and  harps  divine ; 

Whether  the  charmer  sinner  it,  or  saint  it, 

If  folly  grow  romantic,  I  must  paint  it. 

Come  then,  the  colours  and  the  ground  prepare ! 
Dip  in  the  rainbow,  trick  her  off  in  air ; 
Choose  a  firm  cloud,  before  it  fall,  and  in  it 
Catch,  ere  she  change,  the  Cynthia  of  this  minute. 

Rufa,  whose  eye  quick-glancing  o'er  the  park, 
Attracts  each  light  gay  meteor  of  a  spark, 
Agrees  as  ill  with  Rufa  studying  Locke, 
As  Sappho's  diamonds  with  her  dirty  smock ; 
Or  Sappho  at  her  toilet's  greasy  task, 
With  Sappho  fragrant  at  an  evening  mask  : 
So  morning  insects  that  in  muck  begun, 
Shine,  buzz,  and  fly-blow  in  the  setting  sun. 

How  soft  is  Silia !  fearful  to  offend ; 
The  frail  one's  advocate,  the  weak  one's  friend. 
To  her,  Calista  proved  her  conduct  nice ; 
And  good  Simplicius  asks  of  her  advice. 
Sudden,  she  storms !  she  raves!  You  tip  the  wink, 
But  spare  your  censure ;  Silia  does  not  drink. 
All  eyes  may  see  from  what  the  change  arose, 
All  eyes  may  see a  pimple  on  her  nose. 

Papilla,  wedded  to  her  amorous  spark, 
Sighs  for  the  shades! — "  How  charming  is  a  park!" 
A  park  is  purchased,  but  the  fair  he  sees 
All  bathed  in  tears — "  Oh  odious,  odious  trees !" 

Ladies,  like  variegated  tulips,  show ; 
'Tis  to  their  changes  half  their  charms  we  owe ; 
Fine  by  defect,  and  delicately  weak, 
Their  happy  spots  the  nice  admirer  take. 
Twas  thus  Calypso  once  each  heart  alarm'd, 
Awed  without  virtue,  without  beauty  chann'd; 
Her  tongue  bewitch'd  as  oddly  as  her  eyes ; 
Less  wit  than  mimic,  more  a  wit  than  wise. 
Strange  graces  still,  and  stranger  flights  she  had, 
Was  just  not  ugly,  and  was  just  not  mad; 


260  MORAL   ESSAYS. 

Yet  ne'er  so  sure  our  passion  to  create, 

As  when  she  touch'd  the  brink  of  all  we  hate. 

Narcissa's  nature,  tolerably  mild, 
To  make  a  wash,  would  hardly  stew  a  child ; 
Has  even  been  proved  to  grant  a  lover's  prayer, 
And  paid  a  tradesman  once  to  make  him  stare  j 
Gave  alms  at  Easter,  in  a  Christian  trim, 
And  made  a  widow  happy,  for  a  whim. 
Why  then  declare  good-nature  is  her  scorn, 
When  'tis  by  that  alone  she  can  be  borne  ? 
Why  pique  all  mortals,  yet  affect  a  name  ? 
A  fool  to  pleasure,  yet  a  slave  to  fame : 
Now  deep  in  Taylor  and  the  Book  of  Martyrs, 
Now  drinking  citron  with  his  Grace  and  Chartres 
Now  conscience  chills  her,  and  now  passion  burns: 
And  atheism  and  religion  take  their  turns; 
A  very  heathen  in  the  carnal  part, 
Yet  still  a  sad,  good  Christian  at  her  heart. 

See  sin  in  state,  majestically  drunk ; 
Proud  as  a  peeress,  prouder  as  a  punk ; 
Chaste  to  her  husband,  frank  to  all  beside, 
A  teeming  mistress,  but  a  barren  bride. 
What  then  ?  let  blood  and  body  bear  the  fault. 
Her  head's  untouch'd,  that  noble  seat  of  thought: 
Such  this  day's  doctrine — in  another  fit 
She  sins  with  poets  through  pure  love  of  wit. 
What  has  not  fired  her  bosom  or  her  brain  1 
Csesar  and  Tallboy,  Charles  and  Charlemagne. 
As  Helluo,  late  dictator  of  the  feast, 
The  nose  of  hautgout  and  the  tip  of  taste, 
Critiqued  your  wine,  and  analj 


Yet  on  plain  pudding  deigned  at  home  to  eat: 
So  Philomede',  lecturing  all  mankind, 
On  the  soft  passion,  and  the  taste  refined, 
The  address,  the  delicacy — stoops  at  once, 
And  makes  her  hearty  meal  upon  a  dunce. 

Flavia's  a  wit,  has  too  much  sense  to  pray; 
To  toast  our  wants  and  wishes,  is  her  way; 
Nor  asks  of  God,  but  of  her  stars,  to  give 
The  mighty  blessing,  "  while  we  live,  to  live." 
Then  all  for  death,  that  opiate  of  the  soul ! 
Lucretia's  dagger,  Rosamonda's  bowl. 
Say,  what  can  cause  such  impotence  of  mind  ? 
A  spark  too  fickle,  or  a  spouse  too  kind. 


MORAL   ESSAYS.  261 

Wise  -wretch  !  with  pleasures  too  refined  to  please ; 
"With  too  much  spirit  to  be  e'er  at  ease : 
With  too  much  quickness  ever  to  be  taught ; 
With  too  much  thinking  to  have  common  thought: 
You  purchase  pain  with  all  that  joy  can  give, 
And  die  of  nothing  but  a  rage  to  live. 

Turn  then  from  wits!  and  look  on  Simo's  mate, 
No  ass  so  meek,  no  ass  so  obstinate. 
Or  her,  that  owns  her  faults,  but  never  mends, 
Because  she's  honest,  and  the  best  of  friends. 
Or  her,  whose  life  the  church  and  scandal  share, 
For  ever  in  a  passion,  or  a  prayer. 
Or  her,  who  laughs  at  hell,  but  (like  her  grace) 
Cries,  "  Ah  !  how  charming  if  there's  no  such  place !" 
Or  who  in  sweet  vicissitude  appears, 
Of  mirth  and  opium,  ratine  and  tears, 
The  daily  anodyne,  and  nightly  draught, 
To  kill  those  foes  to  fair  ones,  time  and  thought. 
Woman  and  fool  are  two  hard  things  to  hit; 
For  true  no-meaning  puzzles  more  than  wit. 

But  what  are  these  to  great  Atossa's  mind? 
Scarce  once  herself,  by  turns  all  womankind  J 
Who,  with  herself,  or  others,  from  her  birth 
Finds  all  her  life  one  warfare  upon  earth : 
Shines  in  exposing  knaves,  and  painting  fools, 
Yet  is,  whate'er  she  hates  and  ridicules. 
No  thought  advances,  but  her  eddy  brain 
Whisks  it  about,  and  down  it  goes  again. 
Full  sixty  years  the  world  has  been  her  trade, 
The  wisest  fool  much  timeJias  ever  made. 
From  loveless  youth  to  unrespected  age, 
No  passion  gratified,  except  her  rage. 
So  much  the  fury  still  outran  the  wit, 
The  pleasure  miss'd  her,  and  the  scandal  hit. 
Who  breaks  with  her,  provokes  revenge  from  hell, 
But  he's  a  bolder  man  who  dares  be  well. 
Her  every  turn  with  violence  pursued, 
No  more  a  storm  her  hate  than  gratitude : 
To  that  each  passion  turns,  or  soon  or  late ; 
Love,  if  it  makes  her  yield,  must  make  her  hate ; 
Superiors  ?  death  !  and  equals  ? — what  a  curse ! 
But  an  inferior  not  dependent  ? — worse. 
Offend  her,  and  she  knows  not  to  forgive; 
Oblige  her,  and  she'll  hate  you  while  you  live : 
24 


262  MORAL   ESSAYS. 

But  die,  and  she'll  adore  you — Then  the  bust 
And  temple  rise — then  fall  again  to  dust. 
Last  night,  her  lord  was  all  that's  good  and  great; 
A  knave  this  morning,  and  his  will  a  cheat. 
Strange !  by  the  means  defeated  of  the  ends, 
By  spirit  robb'd  of  power,  by  warmth  of  friends, 
By  wealth  of  followers  !  without  one  distress, 
Sick  of  herself  through  very  selfishness ! 
Atossa,  cursed  with  every  granted  prayer, 
Childless  with  all  her  children,  wants  an  heir. 
To  heirs  unknown,  descends  the  imguarded  store, 
Or  wanders,  heaven-directed,  to  the  poor. 

Pictures  like  these,  dear  madam,  to  design, 
Asks  no  firm  hand,  and  no  unerring  line ; 
Some  wandering  touches,  some  reflected  light, 
Some  flying  stroke  alone  can  hit  'em  right : 
For  how  could  equal  colours  do  the  knack  ? 
Cameleons  who  can  paint  in  white  and  black  ? 

"  Yet  Chloe  sure  was  form'd  without  a  spot."— 
Nature  in  her  then  err'd  not,  but  forgot. 
"  With  every  pleasing,  every  prudent  part, 
Say,  what  can  Chloe  want  ?" — She  wants  a  heart. 
She  speaks,  behaves,  and  acts  just  as  she  ought ; 
But  never,  never,  reach'd  one  generous  thought. 
Virtue  she  finds  too  painful  an  endeavour, 
Content  to  dwell  in  decencies  for  ever. 
So  very  reasonable,  so  unmoved, 
As  never  yet  to  love,  or  to  be  loved. 
She,  while  her  lover  pants  upon  her  breast, 
Can  mark  the  figures  on  jn  Indian  chest  : 
And  when  she  sees  her  friend  in  deep  despair, 
Observes  how  much  a  chintz  exceeds  mohair. 
Forbid  it,  Heaven,  a  favour  or  a  debt 
She  e'er  should  cancel ! — but  she  may  forget. 
Safe  is  your  secret  still  in  Chloe's  ear; 
But  none  of  Chloe's  shall  you  ever  hear. 
Of  all  her  dears  she  never  slander'd  one, 
But  cares  not  if  a  thousand  are  undone. 
Would  Chloe  know  if  you're  alive  or  dead  ? 
She  bids  her  footman  put  it  in  her  head. 
/    Chloe  is  prudent — Would  you  too  be  wise  ? 
Then  never  break  your  heart  when  Chloe  dies. 

One  certain  portrait  may  (I  grant)  be  seen, 
Which  Heaven  has  varnish'd  out  and  made  a  queen : 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  263 

THE  SAME  FOR  EVER  !  and  described  by  all 

With  truth  and  goodness,  as  with  crown  and  ball. 

Poets  heap  virtues,  painters  gems  at  will, 

And  show  their  zeal,  and  hide  their  want  of  skill. 

Tis  well — but,  artists !  who  can  paint  or  write, 

To  draw  the  naked  is  your  true  delight. 

That  robe  of  quality  so  struts  and  swells, 

None  see  what  parts  of  nature  it  conceals ; 

The  exactest  traits  of  body  or  of  mind, 

"We  owe  to  models  of  an  humble  kind. 

If  QUEENSBERRY  to  strip  there's  no  compelling, 

'Tis  irom  a  handmaid  we  must  take  a  Helen. 

From  peer  or  bishop  'tis  no  easy  thing 

To  draw  the  man  who  loves  his  God,  or  king : 

Alas  !  I  copy  (or  my  draught  would  fail) 

From  honest  Mahomet,  or  plain  Parson  Hale. 

But  grant,  in  public,  men  sometimes  are  shown, 
A  woman's  seen  in  private  life  alone : 
Our  bolder  talents  in  full  light  display'd ; 
Your  virtues  open  fairest  in  the  shade. 
Bred  to  disguise,  in  public  'tis  you  hide; 
There,  none  distinguish  'twixt  your  shame  or  pride, 
Weakness  or  delicacy ;  all  so  nice, 
That  each  may  seem  a  virtue,  or  a  vice. 

In  men,  we  various  ruling  passions  find; 
In  women  two  almost  divide  the  kind ; 
Those,  only  fix'd,  they  first  or  last  obey, 
The  love  of  pleasure,  and  the  love  of  sway. 

That,  nature  gives ;  and  where  the  lesson  taught 
Is  but  to  please,  can  pleasure  seem  a  fault  ? 
Experience,  this ;  by  man's  oppression  curs* 
They  seek  the  second  not  to  lose  the  first. 


Experience,  this ;  by  man's  oppression  curst, 
~}\ey  seek  the  second  not  to  lose  the  first. 

Men,  some  to  business,  some  to  pleasure  take  ; 


But  every  woman  is  at  heart  a  rake : 
Men,  some  to  quiet,  some  to  public  strife ; 
But  every  lady  would  be  queen  for  life. 

Yet  mark  the  fate  of  a  whole  sex  of  queens ! 
Power  all  their  end,  but  beauty  all  the  means : 
In  youth  they  conquer,  with  so  wild  a  rage, 
As  leaves  them  scarce  a  subject  in  their  age : 
F?r  foreign  glory,  foreign  joy,  they  roam; 
No  thought  of  peace  or  happiness  at  home. 
But  wisdom's  triumph,  is  well-timed  retreat, 
As  hard  a  science  to  the  fair  as  great ! 


264  MORAL   ESSAYS. 

Beauties,  like  tyrants,  old  and  friendless  grown, 
Yet  hate  repose,  and  dread  to  be  alone, 
Worn  out  in  public,  weary  every  eye, 
Nor  leave  one  sigh  behind  them  when  they  die. 

Pleasures  the  sex,  as  children  birds,  pursue, 
Still  out  of  reach,  yet  never  out  of  view ; 
Sure,  if  they  catch,  to  spoil  the  toy  at  most, 
To  covet  flying,  and  regret  when  lost : 
At  last,  to  follies  youth  could  scarce  defend, 
It  grows  their  age's  prudence  to  pretend ; 
Ashamed  to  own  they  gave  delight  before, 
Reduced  to  feign  it,  when  they  give  no  more : 
As  hags  hold  sabbaths  less  for  joy  than  spite, 
So  these  their  merry,  miserable  night : 
Still  round  and  round  the  ghosts  of  beauty  glide 
And*haunt  the  places  where  their  honour  died. 

See  how  the  world  its  veterans  rewards ! 
A  youth  of  frolics,  an  old  age  of  cards ; 
Fair  to  no  purpose,  artful  to  no  end, 
Young  without  lovers,  old  without  a  friend ; 
A  fop  their  passion,  but  their  prize  a  sot, 
Alive,  ridiculous ;  and  dead,  forgot ! 

Ah !  friend  !  to  dazzle  let  the  vain  design  ; 
To  raise  the  thought,  and  touch  the  heart,  be  thine  ! 
That  charm  shall  grow,  while  what  fatigues  the  ring, 
Flaunts  and  goes  down,  an  unregarded  thing: 
So  when  the  sun's  broad  beam  has  tired  the  sight, 
All  mild  ascends  the  moon's  more  sober  light, 
Serene  in  virgin  modesty  she  shines, 
And  unobserved  the  glaring  orb  declines. 

Oh  !  blest  with  temper,  whose  unclouded  ray 
Can  make  to-morrow  cheerful  as  to-day ; 
She  who  can  love  a  sister's  charms,  or  hear 
Sighs  for  a  daughter  with  unwounded  ear ; 
She,  who  ne'er  answers  till  a  husband  cools, 
Or,  if  she  rules  him,  never  shows  she  rules ; 
Charms  by  accepting,  by  submitting  sways, 
Yet  has  her  humour  most,  when  she  obeys ; 
Let  fops  or  fortune  fly  which  way  they  will; 
Disdains  all  loss  of  tickets  or  codille ; 
Spleen,  vapours,  or  small-pox,  above  them  all, 
And  mistress  of  herself,  though  china  fall. 

And  yet,  believe  me,  good  as  well  as  ill, 
Woman's  at  best  a  contradiction  still. 


MORAL   ESSAYS.  265 

Heaven,  when  it  strives  to  polish  all  it  can 
Its  last  best  work,  but  forms  a  softer  man ; 
Picks  from  each  sex,  to  make  the  favourite  bless'd, 
Your  love  of  pleasure,  our  desire  of  rest:          \ 
Blends,  in  exception  to  all  general  rules, 
Your  taste  of  follies,  with  our  scorn  of  fools : 
Reserve  with  frankness,  art  with  truth  allied 
Courage  with  softness,  modesty  with  pride ; 
Fix'd  principles,  with  fancy  ever  new ; 

Shakes  all  together,  and  produces you. 

Be  this  a  woman's  fame :  with  this  unbless'd, 
Toasts  live  a  scorn,  and  queens  may  die  a  jest. 
This  Phoebus  promised  (I  forget  the  year) 
When  those  blue  eyes  first  open'd  on  the  sphere; 
Ascendant  Phoebus  watch 'd  that  hour  with  care, 
Averted  half  your  parents'  simple  prayer ; 
And  gave  you  beauty,  but  denied  the  pelf 
That  buys  your  sex  a  tyrant  o'er  itself. 
The  generous  god,  who  wit  and  gold  refines, 
And  ripens  spirits  as  he  ripens  mines, 
Kept  dross  for  duchesses,  the  world  shall  know  it, 
To  you  gave  sense,  good-humour,  and  a  poet. 


EPJSTLE  III. 
TO    ALLEN    LORD    BATHURST. 


This  epistle  was  written  after  a  violent  outcry  against  our  author,  on 
suspicion  that  he  had  ridiculed  a  worthy  nobleman  merely  for  his  wrong 
taste.  He  justified  himself  upon  that  article  in  a  letter  to  the  Earl  of 
Burlington;  at  the  end  of  which  are  these  words:  "  I  have  learnt  that 
there  are  some  who  would  rather  be  wicked  than  ridiculous  ;  and  there- 
fore it  may  be  safer  to  attack  vices  than  follies.  I  will  therefore  leave 
my  betters  in  the  quiet  possession  of  their  idols,  their  groves,  and  their 
high  places,  and  change  my  subject  from  their  pride  to  their  meanness, 
from  their  vanities  to  their  miseries ;  and  as  the  only  certain  way  to 
avoid  misconstructions,  to  lessen  offence,  and  not  to  multiply  ill-natured 
applications,  I  may  probably,  in  my  next,  make  use  of  real  names 
instead  of  fictitious  ones." 

ARGUMENT. 

OF  THE   USE  OF   RICHES. 

That  it  is  known  to  few,  most  falling  into  one  of  the  extremes, 
avarice  or  profusion.  The  point  discussed  whether  the  invention  of 
money  has  been  more  commodious  or  pernicious  to  mankind.  That 
riches,  either  to  the  avaricious  or  the  prodigal,  cannot  afford  happiness, 
scarcely  necessaries.  That  avarice  is  an  absolute  frenzy,  without  an 
end  or  purpose.  Conjectures  about  the  motives  of  avaricious  men. 
24* 


266  MORAL   ESSAYS. 

That  the  conduct  of  men,  with  respect  to  riches,  can  only  be  accounted 
for  by  the  ORDER  OF  PBOVIDEKCE,  which  works  the  general  good  out 
of  extremes,  and  brings  all  to  its  great  end  by  perpetual  revolutions. 
How  a  miser  acts  upon  principles  which  appear  to  him  reasonable. 
How  a  prodigal  does  the  same.  The  due  medium  and  true  use  ol  riches. 
The  Man  of  Ross.  The  fate  of  the  profuse  and  the  covetous,  in  two 
examples ;  both  miserable  in  life  and  in  death.  The  story  of  Sir  Balaam. 


P.  WHO  shall  decide,  when  doctors  disagree 
And  soundest  casuists  doubt,  like  you  and  me 
You  hold  the  word,  from  Jove  to  Momus  given, 
That  man  was  made  the  standing  jest  of  Heaven; 
And  gold  but  sent  to  keep  the  fools  in  play, 
For  some  to  heap,  and  some  to  throw  away. 

But  I,  who  think  more  highly  of  our  kind, 
(And  surely,  Heaven  and  I  are  of  a  mind) 
Opine,  that  Nature,  as  in  duty  bound, 
Deep  hid  the  shining  mischief  under  ground. 
But  when  by  man's  audacious  labour  won, 
Flamed  forth  this  rival  to  its  sire,  the  sun, 
Then  careful  Heaven  supplied  two  sorts  of  men, 
To  squander  these,  and  those  to  hide  again. 

Like  doctors  thus,  when  much  dispute  has  past, 
We  find  our  tenets  just  the  same  at  last. 
Both  fairly  owning,  riches,  in  effect, 
No  grace  of  Heaven,  or  token  of  the  elect ; 
Given  to  the  fool,  the  mad,  the  vain,  the  evil, 
To  Ward,  to  Waters,  Chartres,1  and  the  Devil. 

1  John  Ward,  of  Hackney,  Esq.,  Member  of  Parliament,  being  prose- 
cuted by  the  Duchess  of  Buckingham,  and  convicted  of  forgery,  was 
first  expelled  the  House,  and  then  stood  on  the  pillory  on  the  1 7th  of 
March,  1727.  He  was  suspected  of  joining  in  a  conveyance  with  Sir 
John  Blunt,  to  secrete  "fifty  thousand  pounds  of  that  Director's  estate, 
forfeited  to  the  South  Sea  Company  by  act  of  parliament.  The  Com- 
pany recovered  the  fifty  thousand  pounds  against  Ward ;  but  he  set  up 
prior  conveyances  of  his  real  estate  to  his  brother  and  son,  and  con- 
cealed  all  his  personal,  which  was  computed  to  be  one  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  pounds.  These  conveyances  being  also  set  aside  by  a 
bill  in  Chancery,  Ward  was  imprisoned,  and  hazarded  the  forfeiture  of 
his  life  by  not  giving  in  his  effects  till  the  last  day,  which  was  that  of 
his  examination.  During  his  confinement,  his  amusement  was  to  give 
poison  to  dogs  and  cats,  and  see  them  expire  by  slower  or  quicker  tor- 
ments. To  sum  up  the  worth  of  this  gentleman,  at  the  several  eras  of 
his  life :  at  his  standing  in  the  pillory,  he  was  worth  above  two  hundred 
thousand  pounds;  at  his  commitment  to  prison, .he  was  worth  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  thousand ;  but  has  been  since  so  far  diminished  in  Ilia 
reputation,  as  to  be  thought  a  worse  man  by  fifty  or  sixty  thousand. 

FT.  Chartres,  a  man  infamous  for  all  manner  of  vices.  When  he 
was  an  ensign  in  the  army,  he  was  drummed  out  of  the  regiment  for  a 


MORAL   ESSAYS.  267 

B.  What  nature  wants,  commodious  gold  bestows, 
'Tis  thus  we  eat  the  bread  another  sows. 

cheat ;  lie  was  next  banished  Brussels,  and  drummed  out  of  Ghent,  on 
the  same  account.  After  a  hundred  tricks  at  the  gaming-tables,  he  took 
to  lending  of  money  at  exorbitant  interest  and  on  great  penalties,  ac. 
cumulating  premium,  interest,  and  capital,  into  a  new  capital,  and  seiz- 
ing to  a  minute  when  the  payments  became  due;  in  a  word,  by  a  con- 
slant  attention  to  the  vices,  wants,  and  follies  of  mankind,  he  acquired 
an  immense  fortune.  His  house  was  a  perpetual  bawdy-house.  He 
was  twice  condemned  for  rapes,  and  pardoned ;  but  the  last  time  not 
without  imprisonment  in  Newgate,  and  large  confiscations.  He  died 
in  Scotland  in  1731,  aged  62.  The  populace  at  his  funeral  raised  a 
great  riot,  almost  tore  the  body  out  of  the  coffin,  and  cast  dead  dogs 
&c.  into  the  grave  along  with  it.  The  following  epitaph  contains  his 
character,  very  justly  drawn  by  Dr.  Arbuthnot: — 

HERE  continueth  to  rot 

The  body  of  FKANCIS    CHARTRES, 

Who,  with  au  INFLEXIBLE  CONSTANCY, 

and 

INIMITABLE  UNIFORMITY  of  life, 
PERSISTED, 

In  spite  of  ACE  and  INFIRMITIES, 

In  the  practice  of  EVERY  HUMAN  VICE, 

Excepting  PRODIGALITY  and  HYPOCRISY: 

His  insatiable  AVARICE  exempted  him  from  the  first, 

His  matchless  IMPUDENCE  from  the  second. 

Nor  was  he  more  singular 
in  the  undeviating  prarity  of  his  mannert, 

Than  successful 

in  accumulating  WEALTH ; 

For,  without  TRADE  or  PROFESSION, 

Without  TRUST  Of  PUBLIC  MONEY, 

And  without  BRIBE-WORTHY  service, 
He  acquired,  or  more  properly  created, 

A  MINISTERIAL  ESTATE. 

He  was  the  only  person  of  his  time 
Who  could  CHEAT  without  the  mask  of  HONESTY, 

Retain  his  primeval  MEANNESS 

When  possessed  of  TEN  THOUSAND  a  year, 

And  having  daily  deserved  the  GIBBET  for  what  he  did, 

Was  at  last  condemned  to  it  for  what  he  could  not  do. 

Oh,  indignant  reader ! 

,  Think  not  his  life  useless  to  mankind  I 

FKOVIDENCE  connived  at  his  execrable  designs, 

To  give  to  after  ages 

A  conspicuous  PROOF  and  EXAMPLE, 

Of  how  small  estimation  is  EXORBITANT  WEALTH 

In  the  sight  of  GOD, 
By  his  bestowing  it  on  the  most  UNWORTHY  OF  ALL 

MORTALS. 

This  gentleman  was  worth  men  thousand  pounds  a  year  estate  in 
land,  and  about  one  hundred  thousand  in  money. 

Mr.  Waters,  the  third  of  these  worthies,  was  a  man  no  way  resem- 


268  MORAL    ESSAYS 

P.  But  how  unequal  it  bestows,  observe, 
"Tis  thus  we  riot,  while,  who  sow  it,  starve : 
What  nature  wants  (a  phrase  I  much  distrust) 
Extends  to  luxury,  extends  to  lust : 
Useful,  I  grant,  it  sei-ves  what  life  requires, 
But  dreadful  too,  the  dark  assassin  hires. 

B.  Trade  it  may  help,  society  extend. 

P.  But  lures  the  pirate,  and  corrupts  the  friend. 

B.  It  raises  armies  in  a  nation's  aid. 

P.  But  bribes  a  senate,  and  the  land's  betray'd. 
In  vain  may  heroes  fight,  and  patriots  rave ; 
If  secret  gold  sap  on  from  knave  to  knave. 
Once,  we  confess,  beneath  the  patriot's  cloak,1 
From  the  crack'd  bag  the  dropping  guinea  spoke, 
And  jingling  down  the  back-stairs,  told  the  crew, 
"  Old  Cato  is  as  great  a  rogue  as  you." 
Blest  paper-credit !  last  and  best  supply ! 
That  lends  corruption  lighter  wings  to  fly! 
Gold  imp'd  by  thee,  can  compass  hardest  things, 
Can  pocket  states,  can  fetch  or  carry  kings  ;2 
A  single  leaf  shall  waft  an  army  o'er, 
Or  ship  off  senates  to  a  distant  shore  :3 
A  leaf,  like  Sibyl's,  scatter  to  and  fro 
Our  fates  and  fortunes,  as  the  winds  shall  blow: 
Pregnant  with  thousands  flits  the  scrap  unseen, 
And  silent  sells  a  king,  or  buys  a  queen. 

Oh !  that  such  bulky  bribes  as  all  might  see, 
Still,  as  of  old,  encumber'd  villany ! 

blingthe  former  in  his  military,  but  extremely  so  in  his  civil  capacity; 
his  great  fortune  having  been  raised  by  the  like  diligent  attendance  on 
the  necessities  of  others.  But  this  gentleman's  history  must  be  deferred 
till  his  death,  when  his  worth  may  be  known  more  certainly. 

1  This  is  a  true  story,  which  happened  in  the  reign  of  William  III.  to 
an  unsuspected  old  patriot,  who  coming  out  at  the  back-door  from 
having  been  closeted  by  the  king,  where  he  had  received  a  large  bag  of 
guineas,  the  bursting  of  the  bag  discovered  his  business  there. 

2  In  our  author's  time,  many  princes  had  been  sent  about  the  world, 
and  great  changes  of  kings  projected  in  Europe.     The  partition  treaty 
had  disposed  of  Spain ;  France  had  set  up  a  king  for  England,  who  was 
sent  to  Scotland,  and  back  again;  King  Stanislaus  was  sent  to  Poland, 
and  back  again;  the  Duke  of  Anjou  was  sent  to  Spain,  and  Don  Carlos 
to  Italy. 

3  Alludes  to  several  ministers,  counsellors,  and  patriots,  banished  in 
our  times  to  Siberia,  and  to  that  MORE  GLORIOUS  FATE  of  the  PARLIA- 
MENT of  PARIS,  banished  to  Pontoise  in  the  year  1720. 


MORAL   ESSAYS.  269 

Could  France  or  Rome  divert  our  brave  designs, 
With  all  their  brandies  or  with  all  their  wines  1 
What   could   they  more   than   knights   and   squires 

confound, 

Or  water  all  the  quorum  ten  miles  round? 
A  statesman's  slumbers  how  this  speech  would  spoil ! 
u  Sir,  Spam  has  sent  a  thousand  jars  of  oil ; 
Huge  bales  of  British  cloth  blockade  the  door; 
A  hundred  oxen  at  your  levee  roar." 

Poor  avarice  one  torment  more  would  find ; 
Nor  could  profusion  squander  all  in  kind. 
Astride  his  cheese  Sir  Morgan  might  we  meet ; 
And  Worldly  crying  coals  from  street  to  street;1 
Whom  with  a  wig  so  wild,  and  mien  so  mazed, 
Pity  mistakes  for  some  poor  tradesman  crazed. 
Had  Colepepper's2  whole  wealth  been  hops  and  hogs, 
Could  he  himself  have  sent  it  to  the  dogs  ?         * 
His  grace  will  game :  to  White's  a  bull  be  led, 
With  spurning  heels  and  with  a  butting  head. 
To  White's  be  carried,  as  to  ancient  games, 
Fair  coursers,  vases,  and  alluring  dames. 
Shall  then  Uxorio,  if  the  stakes  he  sweep, 
Bear  home  six  whores,  and  make  his  lady  weep  ? 
Or  soft  Adonis,  so  perfumed  and  fine, 
Drive  to  St.  James's  a  whole  herd  of  swine  ? 

0  filthy  check  on  all  industrious  skill, 

To  spoil  the  nation's  last  great  trade,  quadrille ! 

Since  then,  my  lord,  on  such  a  world  we  fall, 

What  say  you?     B.   Say?     Why  take  it,  gold  and 

all. 

P.  What  riches  give  us  let  us  then  inquire : 
Meat,  fire,  and  clothes.  B.  What  more  ?  P.  Meat,  clothes, 

and  fire. 

1  Some  misers  of  great  wealth,  proprietors  of  the  coal  mines,  had  en- 
tered at  this  time  into  an  association  to  keep  up  coals  to  an  extravagant 
price,  whereby  the  poor  were  reduced  almost  to  starve  ;  till  one  of  them, 
taking  the  advantage  of  underselling  the  rest,  defeated  the  design.    One 
of  these  misers  was  worth  ten  t/tousand,  another  seven  thousand  a  year. 

2  Sir  William  Colepepper,  Bart.,  a  person  of  an  ancient  family  and 
ample  fortune,  without  one  other  quality  of  a  gentleman,  who,  after 
ruining  himself  at  the  gaming-table,  passed  the  rest  of  his  days  in  sitting 
there  to  see  the  ruin  of  others  ;  preferring  to  subsist  upon  borrowing  and 
begging,  rather  than  to  enter  into  any  reputable  method  of  life,  and 
refusing  a  post  in  the  army,  which  was  offered  him. 


270  MORAL   ESSAYS. 

Is  this  too  little  1  would  you  more  than  live  ? 
Alas !  'tis  more  than  Turner1  finds  they  give. 
Alas !  'tis  more  than  (all  his  visions  past) 
Unhappy  Wharton,2  waking,  found  at  last! 
What  can  they  give  ?  to  dying  Hopkins,3  heirs 
To  Chartres,  vigour;  Japhet,4  nose  and  ears? 
Can  they  in  gems  bid  pallid  Hippia  glow, 
In  Fulvia's  buckle  ease  the  throbs  below: 
Or  heal,  old  Narses,  thy  obscener  ail, 
With  all  the  embroidery  plaster'd  at  thy  tail? 
They  might  (were  Harpax  not  too  wise  to  spend) 
Give  Harpax'  self  the  blessing  of  a  friend ; 
Or  find  some  doctor  that  would  save  the  life 
Of  wretched  Shylock,  spite  of  Shylock's  wife: 
But  thousands  die,  without  or  this  or  that, 
Die,  and  endow  a  college,  or  a  cat.5 
To  some,  indeed,  Heaven  grants  the  happier  fate, 
To  enrich  a  bastard,  or  a  son  they  hate. 

1  One  who,  being  possessed  of  three  hundred  thousand  pounds,  laid 
down  his  coach,  because  interest  was  reduced  from  five  to  four  per  cent., 
and  then  put  seventy  thousand  into  the  charitable  corporation  for  better 
interest ;  which  sura  having  lost,  he  took  it  so  mu^h  to  heart,  that  he 
kept  his  chamber  ever  after.     It  is  thought  he  would  not  have  outlived 
it,  but  that  he  was  heir  to  another  considerable  estate,  which  he  daily 
expected,  and  that  by  this  course  of  life  he  saved  both  clothes  and  all 
other  expenses. 

2  A  nobleman  of  great  qualities,  but  as  unfortunate  in  the  application 
of  them,  as  if  they  had  been  vices  and  follies.     See  his  character  in  the 
first  epistle. 

3  A  citizen,  whose  rapacity  obtained  him  the  name  of  Vulture  Hopkim. 
He  lived  worthless,  but  died  worth  three  hundred  thousand  pounds,  which 
he  would  give  to  no  person  living,  but  leit  it  so  as  not  to  be  inherited 
till  after  the  second  generation.     His  counsel  representing  to  him  how 
many  years  it  must  be  before  this  could  take  effect,  and  that  his  money 
could  only  lie  at  interest  all  that  time,  he  expressed  great  joy  thereat, 
and  said.  "  They  would  then  be  as  long  in  spending,  as  he  had  been  in 
getting  it."     But  the  chancery  afterwards  set  aside  the  will  and  gave  it 
to  the  heir-at-law. 

4  Japhet  C'rook,  alias  Sir  Peter  Stranger,  was  punished  with  the  loss 
of  those  parts  for  having  forged  a  conveyance  of  an  estate  to  himself, 
upon  which  he  took  up  several  thousand  pounds.     He  was  at  the  same 
time  sued  in  chancery  for  having  fraudulently  obtained  a  will,  by  which 
he  possessed  another  eonsiderable  estate,  in  wrong  of  the  brother  of  the 
deceased.     By  these  means  he  was  worth  a  great  sum,  which  (in  reward 
for  the  small  loss  of  his  ears)  he  enjoyed  in  prison  till  his  death,  and 
quietly  left  to  his  executor. 

5  A  certain  duchess  in  her  last  will  left  considerable  legacies  and 
annuities  to  her  cats. 


MORAL    ESSAYS.  271 

Perhaps  you  think  the  poor  might  have  their  part  ? 
Bond  damns  the  poor,1  and  hates  them  from  his  heart: 
The  grave  Sir  Gilbert  holds  it  for  a  rule 
That  every  man  in  want  is  knave  or  fool : 
"  God  cannot  love  (says  Blunt,  with  tearless  eyes) 
The  wretch  he  starves" — and  piously  denies : 
But  the  good  bishop,  with  a  meeker  air, 
Admits,  and  leaves  them,  Providence's  care. 

Yet,  to  be  just  to  these  poor  men  of  pelf, 
Each  does  but  hate  his  neighbour  as  himself: 
Damn'd  to  the  mines,  an  equal  fate  betides 
The  slave  that  digs  it,  and  the  slave  that  hides. 

B.  Who  suffer  thus,  mere  charity  should  own, 
Must  act  on  motives  powerful,  though  unknown. 

P.  Some  war,  some  plague,  or  famine,  they  foresee, 
Some  revelation  hid  from  you  and  me. 
Why  Shylock  wants  a  meal,  the  cause  is  found, 
He  thinks  a  loaf  will  rise  to  fifty  pound. 
What  made  directors  cheat  in  South-Sea  year  ? 
To  live  on  venison  when  it  sold  so  dear. 
Ask  you  why  Phryne  the  whole  auction  buys  1 
Phryne  foresees  a  general  excise.4 
Why  she  and  Sappho  raise  that  monstrous  sum  ? 
Alas  !  they  fear  a  man  will  cost  a  plum. 

Wise  Peter3  sees  the  world's  respect  for  gold, 
And  therefore  hopes  this  nation  may  be  sold: 

1  This  epistle  was  written  in  the  year  1730,  when  a  corporation  was 
established  to  lend  money  to  the  poor  upon  pledges,  by  the  name  of  the 
Charitable  Corporation  ;  but  the  whole  was  turned  only  to  an  iniquitous 
method  of  enriching  particular  people,  to  the  ruin  of  such  numbers,  that 
it  became  a  parliamentary  concern  to  endeavour  the  relief  of  those  un- 
happy sufferers ;  and  three  of  the  managers,  who  were  members  of  the 
House,  were  expelled.  By  the  report  of  the  Committee  appointed  to 
inquire  into  that  iniquitous  allair,  it  appears,  that  when  it  was  objected 
to  the  intended  removal  of  the  office,  that  the  poor,  for  whose  use  it  was 
erected,  would  be  hurt  by  it.  Bond,  one  of  the  directors,  replied,  Damn 
the  poor!  That  "God  hates  the  poor,"  and,  "that  every  man  in  want 
is  either  knave  or  fool,"  &c.,  were  the  genuine  apophthegms  of  some  of 
the  persons  here  mentioned. 

-  Many  people,  about  the  year  1733,  had  a  conceit  that  such  a  thing 
was  intended,  of  which  it  is  not  improbable  this  lady  might  have  some 
intimation. 

3  Peter  Walter,  a  person  not  only  eminent  in  the  wisdom  of  his  pro- 
fession, as  a  dexterous  attorney,  but  allowed  to  be  a  good,  if  not  a  safe, 
conveyancer;  extremely  respected  by  the  nobility  of  this  land,  though 
free  from  all  manner  of  luxury  and  ostentation :  his  wealth  was  never 


272  MOKAL   ESSAYS. 

Glorious  ambition  !  Peter,  swell  thy  store, 
And  be  what  Rome's  great  Didius1  was  before. 

The  crown  of  Poland,2  venal  twice  an  age, 
To  just  three  millions  stinted  modest  Gage; 
But  nobler  scenes  Maria's  dreams  unfold, 
Hereditary  realms,  and  worlds  of  gold: 
Congenial  souls,  whose  life  one  avarice  joins, 
And  one  fate  buries  in  the  Asturian  mines. 

Much  injured  Blunt  !3  why  bears  he  Britain's  hate  ? 
A  wizard  told  him  in  these  words  our  fate: 
"  At  length  corruption,  like  a  general  flood, 
(So  long  by  watchful  ministers  withstood) 
Shall  deluge  all ;  and  avarice  creeping  on, 
Spread  like  a  low-born  mist,  and  blot  the  sun; 
Statesman  and  patriot  ply  alike  the  stocks, 
Peeress  and  butler  share  alike  the  box, 
And  judges  job,  and  bishops  bite  the  town, 
And  mighty  dukes  pack  cards  for  half-a-crown. 
See  Britain  sunk  in  lucre's  sordid  charms, 
And  France  revenged  on  ANNE'S  and  EDWARD'S  arms !" 
'Twas  no  court-badge,  great  scrivener !  fired  thy  brain, 
Nor  lordly  luxury,  nor  city  gain: 
ISo,  'twas  thy  righteous  end.  ashamed  to  see 
Senates  degenerate,  patriots  disagree, 

seen,  and  his  bounty  never  heard  of,  except  to  his  own  son,  for  whom 
he  procured  an  employment  of  considerable  profit,  of  which  he  gave  him 
as  much  as  was  necessary.  Therefore  the  taxing  this  gentleman  with 
any  ambition,  is  certainly  a  great  wrong  to  him. 

1  A  Roman  lawyer,  so  rich  as  to  purchase  the  empire  when  it  was  set 
to  sale  upon  the  death  of  Pertinax. 

2  The  two  persons  here  mentioned  were  of  quality,  each  of  whom  in 
the  Mississippi  despised  to  realize  above  three  hundred  thousand  pounds; 
the  gentleman  with  a  view  to  the  purchase  of  the  crown  of  Poland,  the 
lady  on  a  vision  of  the  like  royal  nature.     They  afterwards  retired  into 
Spain,  in  search  of  gold  in  the  mines  of  the  Asturias. 

3  Sir  John  Blunt,  originally  a  scrivener,  was  one  of  the  first  pro- 
jectors of  the  South-Sea  company,  and  afterwards  one  of  the  directors 
and  chief  managers  of  the  famous  scheme  in  1720.     He  was  also  one  of 
those  who  suffered  most  severely  by  the  bill  of  pains  and  penalties  on 
the  said  directors.     He  was  a  dissenter  of  a  most  religious  deportment, 
and  professed  to  be  a  great  believer.    Whether  he  did  really  credit  the 
prophecy  here  mentioned  is  not  certain,  but  it  was  constantly  in  this 
very  style  he  declaimed  against  the  corruption  and  luxury  of  the  age, 
the  partiality  of  parliaments,  and  the  misery  of  party-spirit.     He  was 
particularly  eloquent   against  avarice  in  great  and  noble  persons,  of 
which  he  had  indeed  lived  to  see  many  miserable  examples.    He  died 
in  the  year  1732. 


MORAL   ESSAYS.  273 

And  nobly  wishing  party-rage  to  cease, 

To  buy  both  sides,  and  give  thy  country  peace. 

"  All  this  is  madness,"  cries  a  sober  sage: 
But  who,  my  friend,  has  reason  in  his  rage  ? 
"  The  ruling  passion,  be  it  what  it  will, 
The  ruling  passion  conquers  reason  still." 
Less  mad  the  wildest  whimsey  we  can  frame, 
Than  even  that  passion,  if  it  has  no  aim ; 
For  though  such  motives  folly  you  may  call, 
The  folly's  greater  to  have  none  at  all. 
Hear  then  the  truth :  "  'Tis  Heaven  each  passion  sends, 
And  different  men  directs  to  different  ends. 
Extremes  in  nature  equal  good  produce, 
Extremes  in  man  concur  to  general  use." 
Ask  me  what  makes  one  keep,  and  one  bestow  ? 
That  Power  who  bids  the  ocean  ebb  and  flow, 
Bids  seed-time,  harvest,  equal  course  maintain, 
Through  reconciled  extremes  of  drought  and  rain, 
Builds  life  on  death,  on  change  duration  founds, 
And  gives  the  eternal  wheels  to  know  their  rounds 

Riches,  like  insects,  when  conceal'd  they  lie, 
Wait  but  for  wings,  and  in  their  season  fly. 
Who  sees  pale  Mammon  pine  amidst  his  store, 
Sees  but  a  backward  steward  for  the  poor; 
This  year  a  reservoir,  to  keep  and  spare : 
The  next,  a  fountain,  spouting  through  his  heir, 
In  lavish  streams  to  quench  a  country's  thirst, 
And  men  and  dogs  shall  drink  him  till  they  burst. 

Old  Cotta  shamed  his  fortune  and  his  birth, 
Yet  was  not  Cotta  void  of  wit  or  worth : 
What  though  (the  use  of  barbarous  spits  forgot) 
His  kitchen  vied  in  coolness  with  his  grot  1 
His  court  with  nettles,  moats  with  cresses  stored, 
With  soups  unbought  and  salads  bless'd  his  board  ? 
If  Cotta  lived  on  pulse,  it  was  no  more 
Than  Brahmins,  saints,  and  sages,  did  before ; 
To  cram  the  rich  with  prodigal  expense, 
And  who  w.ould  take  the  poor  from  Providence  ? 
Like  some  lone  Chartreux  stands  the  good  old  hall, 
Silence  without,  and  fasts  within  the  wall ; 
No  rafter'd  roofs  with  dance  and  tabor  sound, 
No  noontide  bell  invites  the  couuti-y  round : 
Tenants  with  sighs  the  smokeless  towers  survey, 
And  turn  the  unwilling  steeds  another  way: 
25 


274  MORAL  ESSAYS. 

Benighted  -wanderers,  the  forest  o'er, 
Curse  the  saved  candle,  and  unopening  door, 
"While  the  gaunt  mastift',  growling  at  the  gate, 
Affrights  the  beggar  whom  he  longs  to  eat. 

Not  so  his  son ;  he  mark'd  this  oversight, 
And  then  mistook  reverse  of  wrong  for  right. 
(For  what  to  shun  will  no  great  knowledge  need, 
But  what  to  follow,  is  a  task  indeed.) 
Yet  sure,  of  qualities  deserving  praise, 
More  go  to  ruin  fortunes,  than  to  raise. 
What  slaughter 'd  hecatombs,  what  floods  of  wine, 
Fill  the  capacious  'squire,  and  deep  divine  ! 
Yet  no  mean  motive  this  profusion  draws, 
His  oxen  perish  in  his  country's  cause ; 
'Tis  GEORGE  and  LIBERTY  that  crowns  the  cup, 
And  zeal  for  that  great  house  which  eats  him  up. 
The  woods  recede  around  the  naked  seat, 
The  silvans  groan — no  matter — for  the  fleet : 
Next  goes  his  wool — to  clothe  our  valiant  bands; 
Last,  for  his  country's  love,  he  sells  his  lands. 
To  town  he  comes,  completes  the  nation's  hope, 
And  heads  the  bold  train-bands,  and  burns  a  pope. 
And  shall  not  Britain  now  regard  his  toils, 
Britain,  that  pays  her  patriots  with  her  spoils  ? 
In  vain  at  court  the  bankrupt  pleads  his  cause, 
His  thankless  country  leaves  him  to  her  laws. 

The  sense  to  value  riches,  with  the  art 
To  enjoy  them,  and  the  virtue  to  impart, 
Not  meanly,  nor  ambitiously  pursued, 
Not  sunk  by  sloth,  nor  raised  by  servitude ; 
To  balance  fortune  by  a  just  expense, 
Join  with  economy,  magnificence ; 
With  splendour,  charity ;  with  plenty,  health ; 
Oh  teach  us,  BATHURST  !  yet  unspoil'd  by  wealth ! 
That  secret  rare,  between  the  extremes  to  move 
Of  mad  good-nature,  and  of  mean  self-love. 

B.  To  worth  or  want  well  weigh'd  be  boi 
And  ease,  or  emulate,  the  care  of  Heaven ; 
(Whose  measure  full  o'erflows  on  human  race ;) 
Mend  fortune's  fault,  and  justify  her  grace. 
Wealth  in  the  gross  is  death,  but  life  diffused; 
As  poison  heals,  in  just  proportion  used: 
In  heaps,  like  ambergrise,  a  stink  it  lies, 
But  well  dispersed,  is  incense  to  the  skies. 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  275 

P.  "Who  starves  by  nobles,  or  with  nobles  eats  ? 
The  wretch  that  trusts  them,  and  the  rogue  that  cheats. 
Is  there  a  lord,  who  knows  a  cheerful  noon 
Without  a  fiddler,  flatterer,  or  buffoon  ? 
Whose  table,  wit,  or  modest  merit  share, 
Un-elbow'd  by  a  gamester,  pimp,  or  player  ? 
Who  copies  yours,  or  OXFORD'S  better  part, 
To  ease  the  oppress'd,  and  raise  the  sinking  heart? 
Where'er  he  shines,  O  Fortune  !  gild  the  scene, 
And  angels  guard  him  in  the  golden  mean  ! 
There,  English  bounty  yet  awhile  may  stand. 
And  honour  linger  ere  it  leaves  the  land. 

But  all  our  praises  why  should  lords  engross  ? 
Rise,  honest  muse  !  and  sing  the  MAN  of  Boss  :l 
Pleased  Vaga  echoes  through  her  winding  bounds, 
And  rapid  Severn  hoarse  applause  resounds. 
Who  hung  with  woods  you  mountain's  sultry  brow  1 
From  the  dry  rock  who  bade  the  waters  flow  1 
Not  to  the  skies  in  useless  columns  toss'd, 
Or  in  proud  falls  magnificently  lost, 
But  clear  and  artless,  pouring  through  the  plain 
Health  to  the  sick,  and  solace  to  the  swain. 
Whose  causeway  parts  the  vale  with  shady  rows  1 
Whose  seats  the  weary  traveller  repose  ? 
Who  taught  that  heaven-directed  spire  to  rise  ? 
"  The  MAN  of  Ross  !"  each  lisping  babe  replies. 
Behold  the  market-place  with  poor  o'erspread ! 
The  MAN  of  Ross  divides  the  weekly  bread ; 
He  feeds  yon  alms-house,  neat,  but  void  of  state, 
Where  age  and  want  sit  smiling  at  the  gate : 
Him  portion'd  maids,  apprenticed  orphans  bless'd, 
The  young  who  labour,  and  the  old  who  rest. 
Is  any  sick  1  the  MAN  of  Ross  relieves, 
Prescribes,  attends,  the  medicine  makes,  and  gives. 
Is  there  a  variance  ?  enter  but  his  door, 
Balk'd  are  the  courts,  and  contest  is  no  more. 
Despairing  quacks  with  curses  fled  the  place, 
And  vile  attorneys,  now  a  useless  race. 

1  The  person  here  celebrated,  who  with  a  small  estate  actually  per- 
formed all  these  good  works,  and  whose  true  name  was  almost  lost 
(partly  by  the  title  of  The  Man  of  Ross,  given  him  by  way  of  eminence, 
and  partly  by  being  buried  without  so  much  as  an  inscription),  was 
called  -Mr.  John  Kyrle.  He  died  in  the  year  1724,  aged  90,  and  lies 
interred  in  the  chancel  of  the  church  of  Iloss  in  Herefordshire. 


276  MORAL   ESSAYS. 

B.  Thrice  happy  man !  enabled  to  pursue 
.  "What  all  so  wish,  but  want  the  power  to  do  ! 
Oh  say,  what  sums  that  generous  hand  supply  ? 
What  mines,  to  swell  that  boundless  charity  ? 

P.  Of  debts,  and  taxes,  wife  and  children  clear, 

This  man  possess'd five  hundred  pounds  a-year. 

Blush,  grandeur,  blush;  proud  courts,  withdraw  your 

blaze! 
Ye  little  stars !  hide  your  diminish'd  rays. 

B.  And  what  ?  no  monument,  inscription,  stone  ? 
His  race,  his  form,  his  name  almost  unknown? 

P.  Who  builds  a  church  to  God,  and  not  to  Fame, 
Will  never  mark  the  marble  with  his  name : 
Go,  search  it  there,  where  to  be  born  and  die, 
Of  rich  and  poor,  makes  all  the  histor'y ; 
Enough,  that  virtue  fill'd  the  space  between ; 
Proved,  by  the  ends  of  being,  to  have  been. 
When  Hopkins  dies,  a  thousand  lights  attend 
The  wretch,  who  living  saved  a  candle's  end: 
Shouldering  God's  altar  a  vile  image  stands, 
Belies  his  features,  nay,  extends  his  hands ; 
That  live-long  wig  which  Gorgon's  self  might  own, 
Eternal  buckle  takes  in  Parian  stone. 
Behold  what  blessings  wealth  to  life  can  lend  ! 
And  see,  what  comfort  it  affords  our  end. 

In  the  worst  inn's  worst  room,  with   mat  half- 
hung, 

The  floors  of  plaster,  and  the  walls  of  dung, 
On  once  a  flock-bed,  but  repair'd  with  straw, 
With  tape-tied  curtains,  never  meant  to  draw, 
The  George  and  Garter  dangling  from  that  bed 
Where  tawdry  yellow  strove  with  dirty  red, 
Great  Villiers  lies1 — alas  !  how  changed  from  him, 
That  life  of  pleasure,  and  that  soul  of  whim  ! 

1  This  duke,  yet  more  famous  for  bis  vices  than  his  misfortunes, 
having  been  possessed  of  about  50,000;.  a-year,  and  passed  through 
many  of  the  highest  posts  in  the  kingdom,  died  in  the  year  1687. 

[This  picture  of  destitution  is  greatly  exaggerated.  The  Duke  of 
Buckingham  had  not  reduced  himself  to  beggary,  nor  did  he  breathe  his 
last  "in  the  worst  inn's  worst  room."  He  had  retired  to  his  seat  at 
Helmsley,  in  Yorkshire,  and  died  at  the  house  of  a  tenant,  at  Kirby 
Moorside,  after  a  few  days'  fever,  produced  by  sitting  on  the  damp 
ground  when  heated  by  a  fox-chase.  Dryden,  in  the  character  of 
Zimri,  in  Absalom  and  Achitophel,  lias  drawn  the  duke's  portrait  much 
more  faithfully.] 


MORAL   ESSAYS.  277 

Gallant  and  gay,  in  CliefdenV  proud  alcove, 

The  bower  of  wanton  Shrewsbury2  and  lovej 

Or  just  as  gay,  at  council,  in  a  ring 

Of  mimic  statesmen,  and  their  merry  king. 

No  wit  to  flatter,  left  oi  all  his  store  ! 

No  fool  to  laugh  at,  which  he  valued  more. 

There,  victor  of  his  health,  of  foi-tune,  friends, 

And  fame ;  this  lord  of  useless  thousands  ends. 

His  Grace's  fate  sage  Cutler  could  foresee, 
And  well  (he  thought)  advised  him,  "  Live  like  me." 
As  well  his  Grace  replied,  "  Like  you,  Sir  John  ? 
That  I  can  do,  when  all  I  have  is  gone." 
Resolve  me,  Reason,  which  of  these  is  worse, 
Want  with  a  full,  or  with  an  empty  purse  ? 
Thy  life  more  wretched,  Cutler,  was  confess'd, 
Arise,  and  tell  me,  was  thy  death  more  bless'd? 
Cutler  saw  tenants  break,  and  houses  fall, 
For  very  want ;  he  could  not  build  a  wall. 
His  only  daughter  in  a  stranger's  power, 
For  very  want ;  he  could  not  pay  a  dower. 
A  few  grey  hairs  his  reverend  temples  crown'd, 
Twas  very  want  that  sold  them  for  two  pound. 
What,  e'en  denied  a  cordial  at  his  end, 
Banish'd  the  doctor,  and  expell'd  the  friend  ? 
What  but  a  want,  which  you  perhaps  think  mad, 
Yet  numbers  feel,  the  want  of  what  he  had  ! 
Cutler  and  Brutus,  dying,  both  exclaim, 
"  Virtue  !  and  wealth  !  what  are  ye  but  a  name !" 

Say,  for  such  worth  are  other  worlds  prepared  ? 
Or  are  they  both,  in  this,  their  own  reward  ? 
A  knotty  point !  to  which  we  now  proceed. 
But  you  are  tired— I'll  tell  a  tale.— B.  Agreed. 

P.  Where  London's  column,3  pointing  at  the  skies 
Like  a  tall  bully,  lifts  the  head,  and  lies ; 
There  dwelt  a  citizen  of  sober  fame, 
A  plain  good  man,  and  Balaam  was  his  name ; 

i  A  delightful  palace,  on  the  banks  of  the  Thames,  built  by  the  Duke 
of  Buckingham. 

The  Countess  of  Shrewsbury,  a  woman  abandoned  to  gallantries. 
The  earl,  her  husband,  was  killed  by  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  in  a 
duel ;  and  it  has  been  said,  that  during  the  combat  she  held  the  duke's 
horses  in  the  habit  of  a  page. 

3  The  Monument,  built  in  memory  of  the  Great  Fire  of  London, 
with  an  inscription  importing  that  city  to  have  been  burnt  by  the  papists. 
This  inscription  has  since  been  erased. 
25* 


278  MORAL  ESSAYS. 

Eeligious,  punctual,  frugal,  and  so  forth ; 

His  word  would  pass  for  more  than  he  was  worth. 

One  solid  dish  his  week-day  meal  affords, 

An  added  pudding  solemnized  the  Lord's : 

Constant  at  church,  and  'Change;  his  gains  were  sure 

His  givings  rare,  save  farthings  to  the  poor. 

The  devil  was  piqued  such  saintship  to  behold, 
And  long'd  to  tempt  him  like  good  Job  of  old : 
But  Satan  now  is  wiser  than  of  yore, 
And  tempts  by  .making  rich,  not  making  poor. 

Eoused  by  the  prince  of  air,  the  whirlwinds  swesp 
The  surge,  and  plunge  his  father  in  the  deep ; 
Then  full  against  his  Cornish  lands  they  roar, 
And  two  rich  shipwrecks  bless  the  lucky  shore. 

Sir  Balaam  now,  he  lives  like  other  folks, 
He  takes  his  chirping  pint,  and  cracks  his  jokes: 
"  Live  like  yourself,"  was  soon  my  lady's  word ; 
And  lo !  two  puddings  smoked  upon  the  board. 

Asleep  and  naked  as  an  Indian  lay, 
An  honest  factor  stole  a  gem  away: 
He  pledged  it  to  the  knight;  the  knight  had  wit, 
So  kept  the  diamond,  and  the  rogue  was  bit. 
Some  scruple  rose,  but  thus  he  eased  his  thought, 
"  I'll  now  give  sixpence  where  I  gave  a  groat ; 
Where  once  I  went  to  church,  I'll  now  go  twice — • 
And  am  so  clear  too  of  all  other  vice." 

The  tempter  saw  his  time;  the  work  he  plied; 
Stocks  and  subscriptions  pour  on  every  side, 
Till  all  the  demon  makes  his  full  descent 
In  one  abundant  shower  of  cent,  per  cent., 
Sinks  deep  within  him,  and  possesses  whole, 
Then  dubs  director,  and  secures  his  soul. 

Behold  Sir  Balaam,  now  a  man  of  spirit, 
Ascribes  his  gettings  to  his  parts  and  merit; 
What  late  he  call'd  a  blessing,  now  was  wit, 
And  God's  good  providence  a  lucky  hit. 
Things  change  their  titles  as  our  manners  turn: 
His  counting-house  employ 'd  the  Sunday  morn; 
Seldom  at  church  ('twas  such  a  busy  life), 
But  duly  sent  his  family  and  wife. 
There  (so  the  devil  ordain'd)  one  Christmas-tide 
^y  good  old  lady  catch'd  a  cold,  and  died. 

A  nymph  of  quality  admires  our  knight; 
He  marries,  bows  at  court,  and  grows  polite: 


MORAL   ESSAYS.  279 

Leaves  the  dull  cits,  and  joins  (to  please  the  fair) 
The  well-bred  cuckolds  in  St.  James's  air: 
First,  for  his  son  a  gay  commission  buys, 
Who  drinks,  whores,  fights,  and  in  a  duel  dies: 
His  daughter  flaunts  a  viscount's  tawdry  wife ; 
She  bears  a  coronet  and  pox  for  life. 
In  Britain's  senate  he  a  seat  obtains, 
And  one  more  pensioner  St.  Stephen  gains. 
My  lady  falls  to  play ;  so  bad  her  chance, 
He  must  repair  it ;  takes  a  bribe  from  France ; 
The  House  impeach  him ;  Conins;sby  harangues ; 
The  court  forsake  him,  and  Sir  Balaam  hangs: 
Wife,  son,  and  daughter,  Satan  !  are  thy  own, 
His  wealth,  yet  dearer,  forfeit  to  the  crown: 
The  devil  and  the  king  divide  the  prize, 
And  sad  Sir  Balaam  curses  God  and  dies. 


EPISTLE  IV. 
TO  RICHARD  BOYLE,  EARL  OF  BURLINGTON. 


ARGUMENT. 

OF  THE  USE  OF  RICHES. 

The  vanity  of  expense  in  people  of  wealth  and  quality.  The  abuse 
of  the  word  taste.  That  the  first  principle  and  foundation  in  this,  as  in 
everything  else,  is  good  tente.  The  chief  proof  of  it  is  to  follow  nature, 
even  in  works  of  mere  luxury  and  elegance.  Instanced  in  architecture 
and  gardening,  where  all  must  be  adapted  to  the  genius  and  use  of  the 
place,  and  the  beauties  not  forced  into  it,  but  resulting  from  it.  How 
men  are  disappointed  in  their  most  expensive  undertakings,  for  want 
of  this  true  foundation,  without  which  nothing  can  please  long,  if  at  all; 
and  the  best  examples  and  rules  will  be  but  perverted  into  something 
burdensome  and  ridiculous.  A  description  of  the  false  taste  of  magnift- 
cenre;  the  first  grand  error  of  which  is  to  imagine  that  greatness  consists 
in  the  size  and  dimension,  instead  of  the  proportion  and  harmony  of  the 
whole,  and  the  second,  either  in  joining  together  parts  incoherent,  or  too 
minutely  resembling,  or  in  the  repetition  of  the  same  too  frequently.  A 
word  or  two  of  false  taste  in  books,  in  music,  in  painting,  even  in  preach- 
ing and  prat/er,  and  lastly  in  entertainments.  Yet  PROVIDENCE  is 
justified  in  giving  wealth  to  be  squandered  in  this  manner,  since  it  is 
dispersed  to  the  poor  and  laborious  part  of  mankind  (recurring  to  what 
is  laid  down  in  the  first  book,  Kp.  ii.  and  in  the  epistle  preceding  this). 
"What  are  the  proper  objects  of  magnificence,  and  a  proper  field  for  the 
expense  of  gnat  men,  and  finally,  the  great  and  public  works  which 
become  &prince. 


280  MOEAL  ESSAYS. 

Tis  strange,  the  miser  should  his  cares  employ 
To  gain  those  riches  he  can  ne'er  enjoy: 
Is  it  less  strange,  the  prodigal  should  waste 
His  wealth,  to  purchase  what  he  ne'er  can  taste  ? 
Not  for  himself  he  sees,  or  hears,  or  eats  ; 
Artists  must  choose  his  pictures,  music,  meats: 
He  buys  for  Topham,1  drawings  and  designs, 
For  Pembroke,  statues,  dirty  gods,  and  coins ; 
Bare  monkish  manuscripts  for  Hearne  alone, 
.    And  books  for  Mead,  and  butterflies  for  Sloane.9 
Think  we  all  these  are  for  himself?  no  more 
Than  his  fine  wife,  alas  !  or  finer  whore. 

For  what  has  Virro  painted,  built,  and  planted  ? 
Only  to  show  how  many  tastes  he  wanted. 
What  brought  Sir  Visto's  ill-got  wealth  to  waste  ? 
Some  demon  whisper'd,  "  Visto  !  have  a  taste." 
Heaven  visits  with  a  taste  the  wealthy  fool, 
And  needs  no  rod  but  Ripley3  with  a  rule. 
See  !  sportive  fate,  to  punish  awkward  pride, 
Bids  Bubo  build,  and  sends  him  such  a  guide : 
A  standing  sermon,  at  each  year's  expense, 
That  never  coxcomb  reach'd  magnificence  ! 

You  show  us,  Rome  was  glorious,  not  profuse,4 
And  pompous  buildings  once  were  things  of  use. 
Yet  shall  (my  lord)  your  just,  your  noble  rules, 
Fill  half  the  land  with  imitating  fools ; 
Who  random  drawings  from  your  sheets  shall  take, 
And  of  one  beauty  many  blunders  make ; 
Load  some  vain  church  with  old  theatric  state, 
Turn  arcs  of  triumph  to  a  garden-gate ; 
Reverse  your  ornaments  ;  and  hang  them  all 
On  some  patch'd  dog-hole  eked  with  ends  of  wall ; 
Then  clap  four  slices  of  pilaster  on't, 
That,  laced  with  bits  of  rustic,  makes  a  front : 

1  A  gentleman  famous  for  a  judicious  collection  of  drawings. 

2  Two  eminent  physicians:  the  one  had   an  excellent  library,  the 
other  the  finest  collection  in  Europe  of  natural  curiosities;  both  men  of 
great  learning  and  humanity. 

3  This  man  was  a  carpenter,  employed  by  a  first  minister,  who  raised 
him  to  an  architect,  without  any  genius  in  the  art;  and  after  some 
wretched  proofs  of  his  insufficiency  in  public  buildings,  made  him  comp- 
troller of  the  board  of  works. 

4  The  Earl  of  Burlington  was  then  publishing  the  designs  of  Inigo 
Jones,  and  the  antiquities  of  Rome  by  Palladio. 


MORAL  ESSAYS.  281 

Shall  call  the  winds  through  long  arcades  to  roar, 
Proud  to  catch  cold  at  a  Venetian  door; 
Conscious  they  act  a  true  Palladian  part, 
And  if  they  starve,  they  starve  by  rules  ot  art. 

Oft  have  you  hinted  to  your  brother  peer, 
A  certain  truth,  which  many  buy  too  dear : 
Something  there  is  more  needful  than  expense, 
And  something  previous  e'en  to  taste — 'tis  sense: 
Good  sense,  which  only  is  the  gift  of  Heaven, 
And  though  no  science,  fairly  worth  the  seven: 
A  light,  which  in  yourself  you  must  perceive; 
Jones  and  Le  Notre  have  it  not  to  give. 

To  build,  to  plant,  whatever  you  intend, 
To  rear  the  column,  or  the  arch  to  bend, 
To  swell  the  terrace,  or  to  sink  the  grot; 
In  all,  let  nature  never  be  forgot. 
But  treat  the  goddess  like  a  modest  fair, 
Nor  over-dress,  nor  leave  her  wholly  bare; 
Let  not  each  beauty  everywhere  be  spied, 
Where  half  the  skill  is  decently  to  hide. 
He  gains  all  points  who  pleasingly  confounds, 
Surprises,  varies,  and  conceals  the  bounds. 

Consult  the  genius  of  the  place  in  all ; 
That  tells  the  waters  or  to  rise  or  fall ; 
Or  helps  the  ambitious  hill  the  heavens  to  scale, 
Or  scoops  in  circling  theatres  the  vale : 
Calls  in  the  country,  catches  opening  glades, 
Joins  willing  woods,  and  varies  shades  from  shades ; 
Now  breaks,  or  now  directs,  the  intending  lines  ; 
Paints  as  you  plant,  and,  as  you  work,  designs. 

Still  follow  sense,  of  every  art  the  soul, 
Parts  answering  parts  shall  slide  into  a  whole, 
Spontaneous  beauties  all  around  advance, 
Start  even  from  difficulty,  strike  from  chance ; 
Nature  shall  join  you ;  Time  shall  make  it  grow 
A  work  to  wonder  at — perhaps  a  SiowE.1 

Without  it,  proud  Versailles  !  thy  glory  falls ; 
And  Zero's  terraces  desert  their  walls: 
The  vast  parterres  a  thousand  hands  shall  make, 
Lo !  COBHAM  comes,  and  floats  them  with  a  lake: 

1  The  seat  and  gardens  of  the  Lord  Viscount  Cobham,  in  Bucking- 
hamshire; now  possessed  by  the  Duke  of  Buckingham. 


282  MORAL   ESSAYS. 

Or  cut  wide  views  through  mountains  to  the  plain, 
You'll  wish  your  hill  or  shelter'd  seat  again.1 
Even  in  an  ornament  its  place  remark, 
Nor  in  an  hermitage  set  Dr.  Clarke.2 

Behold  Villario's  ten-years'  toil  complete; 
His  quincunx  darkens,  his  espaliers  meet ; 
The  wood  supports  the  plain,  the  parts  unite, 
And  strength  of  shade  contends  with  strength  of  light; 
A  waving  glow  the  bloomy  beds  display, 
Blushing  in  bright  diversities  of  day, 
With  silver-quivering  rills  meander'd  o'er — 
Enjoy  them,  you !  Villario  can  no  more; 
Tired  of  the  scene  parterres  and  fountains  yield, 
He  finds,  at  last,  he  better  likes  a  field. 

Or  sat  delighted  in  the  thickening  shade, 

With  annual  joy  the  reddening  shoots  to  greet, 

Or  see  the  stretching  branches  long  to  meet ! 

His  son's  fine  taste  an  opening  vista  loves, 

Foe  to  the  dryads  of  his  father's  groves ; 

One  boundless  green,  or  flourish'd  carpet  views, 

With  all  the  mournful  family  of  yews ; 

The  thriving  plants,  ignoble  broomsticks  made, 

Now  sweep  those  alleys  they  were  born  to  shade. 

At  Timon's  villa  let  us  pass  a  day, 
Where  all  cry  out,  "  What  sums  are  thrown  away !" 
So  proud,  so  grand ;  of  that  stupendous  air, 
Soft  and  agreeable  come  never  there. 
Greatness,  with  Timon,  dwells  in  such  a  draught 
As  brings  all  Brobdignag  before  your  thought. 
To  compass  this,  his  building  is  a  town, 
His  pond  an  ocean,  his  parterre  a  down : 
Who  but  must  laugh,  the  master  when  he  sees, 
A  puny  insect,  shivering  at  a  breeze ! 
Lo,  what  huge  heaps  of  littleness  around ! 
The  whole,  a  labour'd  quarry  above  ground. 
Two  cupids  squirt  before :  a  lake  behind 
Improves  the  keenness  of  the  northern  wind. 

1  This  was  done  in  Hertfordshire  by  a  wealthy  citizen,  at  the  expense 
of  above  five  thousand  pounds,  by  which  means  (merely  to  overlook  a 
dead  plain)  he  let  in  the  north  wind  upon  his  house  and  parterre,  which 
were  before  adorned  and  defended  by  beautiful  woods. 

2  Dr.  S.  Clarke's  busto,  placed  by  the  queen  in  the  hermitage,  while 
the  doctor  duly  frequented  the  court. 


MORAL   ESSAYS.  283 

His  gardens  next  your  admiration  call, 

On  every  side  you  look,  behold  the  wall! 

No  pleasing  intricacies  intervene, 

No  artful  wildness  to  perplex  the  scene; 

Grove  nods  at  grove,  each  alley  has  a  brother, 

And  half  the  platform  just  reflects  the  other. 

The  suffering  eye  inverted  nature  sees, 

Trees  cut  to  statues,  statues  thick  as  trees; 

With  here  a  fountain,  never  to  be  play'd ; 

And  there  a  summer-house,  that  knows  no  shade ; 

Here  Amphitrite  sails  through  myrtle  bowers; 

There  gladiators  fight,  or  die  in  flowers ; 

Unwater'd  see  the  drooping  sea-horse  mourn, 

And  swallows  roost  in  Nilus'  dusty  urn. 

My  Lord  advances  with  majestic  mien, 
Smit  with  the  mighty  pleasure,  to  be  seen : 
But  soft — by  regular  approach — not  yet — 
First  through  the  length  of  yon  hot  terrace  sweat ; 
And  when  up  ten  steep  slopes  you've  dragg'd  your  thighs, 
Just  at  his  study-door  he'll  bless  your  eyes. 

His  study !  with  what  authors  is  it  stored  1 
In  books,  not  authors,  curious  is  my  lord ; 
To  all  their  dated  backs  he  turns  you  round; 
These  Aldus  printed,  those  Du  Sueil  has  bound! 
Lo,  some  are  vellum,  and  the  rest  as  good 
For  all  his  lordship  knows,  but  they  are  wood. 
For  Locke  or  Milton  'tis  in  vain  to  look, 
These  shelves  admit  not  any  modern  book. 

And  now  the  chapel's  silver  bell  you  hear, 
That  summons  you  to  all  the  pride  of  pray'r: 
Light  quirks  of  music,  broken  and  uneven, 
Make  the  soul  dance  upon  a  jig  to  Heaven. 
On  painted  ceilings  you  devoutly  stare, 
Where  sprawl  the  saints  of  Verrio  or  Laguerre,1 
On  gilded  clouds  in  fair  expansion  lie, 
And  bring  all  paradise  before  your  eye. 
To  rest,  the  cushion  and  soft  dean  invite, 
Who  never  mentions  hell  to  ears  polite.3 

*  Verrio  (Antonio)  painted  many  ceilings,  &c.,  at  Windsor,  Hampton 
Court,  &c.,  and  Laguerre  at  Blenheim  Castle,  and  other  places. 

2  This  is  a  fact.  A  reverend  dean,  preaching  at  court,  threatened  the 
sinner  with  punishment  in  "  a  place  which  he  thought  it  not  decent  to 
name  in  so  polite  an  assembly." 


284  MORAL    ESSAYS. 

But  hark!  the  chiming  clocks  to  dinner  call; 
A  hundred  footsteps  scrape  the  marble  hall : 
The  rich  buffet  well-colour'd  serpents  grace, 
And  gaping  Tritons  spew  to  wash  your  face. 
Is  this  a  dinner?  this  a  genial  room; 
No,  'tis  a  temple,  and  a  hecatomb. 
A  solemn  sacrifice,  perform 'd  in  state, 
You  drink  by  measure,  and  to  minutes  eat. 
So  quick  retires  each  flying  course,  you'd  swear 
Sancho's  dread  doctor  and  his  wand  were  there. 
Between  each  act  the  trembling  salvers  ring, 
From  soup  to  sweet  wine,  and  God  bless  the  king. 
In  plenty  starving,  tantalized  in  state, 
And  complaisantly  help'd  to  all  I  hate, 
Treated,  caress'd,  and  tired,  I  take  my  leave, 
Sick  of  his  civil  pride  from  morn  to  eve; 
I  curse  such  lavish  cost,  and  little  skill, 
And  swear  no  day  was  ever  pass'd  so  ill. 

Yet  hence  the  poor  are  clothed,  the  hungry  fed  ;* 
Health  to  himself,  and  to  his  intants  bread 
The  labourer  bears :  what  his  hard  heart  denies, 
His  charitable  vanity  supplies. 

Another  age  shall  see  the  golden  ear 
Imbrown  the  slope,  and  nod  on  the  parterre, 
Deep  harvests  bury  all  his  pride  has  plann'd, 
And  laughing  Ceres  re-assume  the  land. 

Who  then  shall  grace,  or  who  improve  the  soil? 
Who  plants  like  BATHURST,  or  who  builds  like  BOYLE. 
'Tis  use  alone  that  sanctifies  expense, 
And  splendour  borrows  all  her  rays  from  sense. 

His  father's  acres  who  enjoys  in  peace, 
Or  makes  his  neighbours  glad  if  he  increase : 
Whose  cheerful  tenants  bless  their  yearly  toil, 
Yet  to  their  lord  owe  more  than  to  the  soil ; 
Whose  ample  lawns  are  not  ashamed  to  feed 
The  milky  heifer,  and  deserving  steed ; 
Whose  rising  forests,  not  for  pride  or  show, 
But  future  buildings,  future  navies  grow : 
Let  his  plantations  stretch  from  down  to  down, 
First  shade  a  country,  and  then  raise  a  town. 

1  This  is  the  moral  of  the  whole ;  where  Providence  is  justified  in 
giving  riches  to  those  who  squander  them  in  this  manner.  A  bad  taste 
employs  more  hands,  and  diti'uses  wealth  more  usefully  than  a  good  one. 


MORAL   ESSAYS.  285 

You  too  proceed !  make  falling  arts  your  care, 
Erect  new  wonders,  and  the  old  repair ; 
Jones  and  Palladio  to  themselves  restore, 
And  be  whate'er  Vitruvius  was  before : 
Till  kings  call  forth  the  ideas  of  your  mind, 
(Proud  to  accomplish  what  such  hands  design'd) 
Bid  harbours  open,  public  ways  extend, 
Bid  temples  worthier  of  the  God  ascend, 
Bid  the  broad  arch  the  dangerous  flood  contain, 
The  mole  projected  break  the  roaring  main ; 
Back  to  his  bounds  their  subject  sea  command, 
And  roll  obedient  rivers  through  the  land : 
These  honours,  peace  to  happy  BRITAIN  brings, 
These  are  imperial  works,  and  worthy  kings. 


EPISTLE  V. 
TO    MB.    ADDIS  ON. 

OCCASIONED  BY    1113   DIALOGUES    ON  MEDALS. 


This  was  originally  written  in  the  year  1715,  when  Mr.  Addison 
intended  to  publish  liis  book  of  medals;  it  was  some  time  before  he  was 
Secretary  of  State;  but  not  published  till  Mr.  Tickell's  edition  of  his 
works:  at  which  time  the  verses  on  Mr.  Craggs.  which  conclude  the 
poem,  were  added,  viz.,  in  1720. 


SEE  the  wild  waste  of  all-devouring  years! 

How  Rome  her  own  sad  sepulchre  appears! 

With  nodding  arches,  broken  temples  spread  f 

The  very  tombs  now  vanish'd  like  their  dead! 

Imperial  wonders  raised  on  nations  spoil'd, 

Where,  mix'd  with  slaves,  the  groaning  martyr  toil'd: 

Huge  theatres,  that  now  unpeopled  woods, 

Now  drain'd  a  distant  country  of  her  floods : 

Fanes,  which  admiring  gods  with  pride  survey 

Statues  of  men,  scarce  less  alive  than  they ! 

Some  felt  the  silent  stroke  of  mouldering  age, 

Some  hostile  fury,  some  religious  rage. 

Barbarian  blindness,  Christian  zeal  conspire, 

And  Papal  piety,  and  Gothic  fire. 

26 


286  MOKAL   ESSAYS. 

Perhaps,  by  its  own  ruins  saved  from  flame, 
Some  buried  marble  half  preserves  a  name ; 
That  name  the  learn'd  with  fierce  disputes  pursue, 
And  give  to  Titus  old  Vespasian's  due. 

Ambition  sigh'd :  she  found  it  vain  to  trust 
The  faithless  column,  and  the  crumbling  bust : 
Huge  moles,  whose  shadow  stretch'd  from  shore  to  shore 
Their  ruins  perish 'd,  and  their  place  no  more! 
Convinced,  she  now  contracts  her  vast  design, 
And  all  her  triumphs  shrink  into  a  coin. 
A  narrow  ORB  each  crowded  conquest  keeps, 
Beneath  her  palm  here  sad  Judea  weeps. 
Now  scantier  limits  the  proud  arch  confine, 
And  scarce  are  seen  the  prostrate  Nile  or  Rhine; 
A  small  Euphrates  through  the  piece  is  roll'd, 
And  little  eagles  wave  their  wings  in  gold. 

The  medal,  faithful  to  its  charge  of  fame, 
Through  climes  and  ages  bears  each  form  and  name: 
In  one  short  view,  subjected  to  our  eye, 
Gods,  emperors,  heroes,  sages,  beauties,  lie. 
With  sharpen'd  sight,  pale  antiquaries  pore, 
The  inscription  value,  but  the  rust  adore. 
This  the  blue  varnish,  that  the  green  endears, 
The  sacred  rust  of  twice  ten  hundred  years ! 
To  gain  Pescennius  one  employs  his  schemes, 
One  grasps  a  Cecrops  in  ecstatic  dreams. 
Poor  Vadius,  long  with  learned  spleen  devour'd, 
Can  taste  no  pleasure  since  his  shield  was  scour'd : 
And  Curio,  restless  by  the  fair  one's  side, 
Sighs  for  an  Otho,  and  neglects  his  bride. 

Theirs  is  the  vanity,  the  learning  thine: 
Touch'd  by  thy  hand,  again  Rome's  glories  shine ; 
Her  gods,  and  godlike  heroes  rise  to  view, 
And  all  her  faded  garlands  bloom  anew. 
Nor  blush,  these  studies  thy  regard  engage ; 
These  pleased  the  fathers  of  poetic  rage  ; 
The  verse  and  sculpture  bore  an  equal  part, 
And  art  reflected  images  to  art. 

Oh  when  shall  Britain,  conscious  of  her  claim, 
Stand  emulous  of  Greek  and  Roman  fame  ? 
In  living  medals  see  her  wars  enroll'd, 
And  vanquish'd  realms  supply  recording  gold? 
Here,  rising  bold,  the  patriot's  honest  face ; 
There  warriors  frowning  in  historic  brass: 


PROLOGUE  TO   THE   SATIRES.  287 

Then  future  ages  with  delight  shall  see 

How  Plato's,  Bacon's,  Newton's  looks  agree; 

Or  in  fair  series  laurell'd  bards  be  shown, 

A  Virgil  there,  and  here  an  Addison. 

Then  shall  thy  Craggs  (and  let  me  call  him  mine) 

On  the  cast  ore,  another  Pollio,  shine ; 

With  aspect  open,  shall  erect  his  head, 

And  round  the  orb  in  lasting  notes  be  read, 

"  Statesman,  yet  friend  to  truth  !  of  soul  sincere, 

In  action  faithful,  and  in  honour  clear ; 

Who  broke  no  promise,  served  no  private  end, 

Who  gain'd  no  title,  and  who  lost  no  friend ; 

Ennobled  by  himself,  by  all  approved, 

And  praised,  unenvied,  by  the  muse  he  loved." 


EPISTLE  TO  DR.  ARBUTHNOT, 

BEING 

THE  PEOLOGUE  TO  THE  SATIRES. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

This  paper  is  a  sort  of  bill  of  complaint,  begun  many  years  since,  and 
drawn  up  by  snatches,  as  the  several  occasions  offered.  I  had  no  thoughts 
of  publishing  it,  till  it  pleased  some  persons  of  rank  and  fortune  (the 
authors  of  Verses  to  the  Imitator  of  Horace,  and  of  an  Epistle  to  a  Doctor  of 
Divinity  from  a  Nobleman  at  Hampton-court)  to  attack,  in  a  very  extra- 
ordinary manner,  not  only  my  writings  (of  which,  being  public,  the 
public  is  judge),  but  my  person,  morals,  and  family,  whereof,  to  those  who 
know  me  not,  a  truer  information  may  be  requisite.  Being  divided 
between  the  necessity  to  say  something  of  myself,  and  my  own  laziness 
to  undertake  so  awkward  a  task,  I  thought  it  the  shortest  way  to  put 
the  last  hand  to  this  epistle.  If  it  have  anything  pleasing,  it  will  be  that 
by  which  I  am  most  desirous  to  please,  the  truth,  and  the  sentiment;  and 
if  anything  offensive,  it  will  be  only  to  those  I  am  least  sorry  to  offend, 
the  vicious,  or  the  ungenerous. 

Many  will  know  their  own  pictures  in  it,  there  being  not  a  circum- 
stance but  what  is  true ;  but  I  have  for  the  most  part  spared  their  names, 
and  they  may  escape  being  laughed  at,  if  they  please. 

I  would  have  some  of  them  know,  it  was  owing  to  the  request  of  the 
learned  and  candid  friend  to  whom  it  is  inscribed,  that  I  make  not  as 
free  use  of  theirs,  as  they  have  done  of  mine.  However,  I  shall  have 
this  advantage  and  honour  on  my  side,  that  whereas,  by  their  proceed- 
ing, any  abuse  may  be  directed  at  any  man,  no  injury  can  possibly  be 
done  by  mine,  since  a  nameless  character  can  never  be  found  out,  but 
by  its  truth  and  likeness. 


88  PROLOGUE   TO   THE    SATIRES. 

P.  SHUT,  shut  the  door,  good  John!  fatigued  I  said, 
Tie  up  the  knocker,  say  I'm  sick,  I'm  dead. 
The  Dog-star  rages !  nay,  'tis  past  a  doubt, 
All  Bedlam,  or  Parnassus,  is  let  out: 
Fire  in  each  eye,  and  papers  in  each  hand, 
They  rave,  recite,  and  madden  round  the  land. 
"What  walls  can  guard  me,  or  what  shades  can  hide  ? 
They  pierce  my  thickets,  through  my  grot  they  glide, 
By  land,  by  water,  they  renew  the  charge, 
They  stop  the  chariot,  and  they  board  the  barge. 
No  place  is  sacred,,  not  the  church  is  free, 
Even  Sunday  shines  no  Sabbath  day  to  me: 
Then  from  the  Mint  walks  forth  the  man  of  rhyme, 
Happy!  to  catch  me,  just  at  dinner-time. 

Is  there  a  parson  much  be-mused  in  beer, 
A  maudlin  poetess,  a  rhyming  peer, 
A  clerk,  foredoom'd  his  father's  soul  to  cross, 
"Who  pens  a  stanza,  when  he  should  engross  ? 
Is  there,  who,  lock'd  from  ink  and  paper,  scrawls 
With  desperate  charcoal  round  his  darken'd  walls? 
All  fly  to  TWIC'KAM,  and  in  humble  strain 
Apply  to  me,  to  keep  them  mad  or  vain. 
Arthur,  whose  giddy  son  neglects  the  laws, 
Imputes  to  me  and  my  damn'd  works  the  cause : 
Poor  Cornus  sees  his  frantic  wile  elope, 
And  curses  wit,  and  poetry,  and  Pope. 

Friend  to  my  life !  (which  did  not  you  prolong, 
The  world  had  wanted  many  an  idle  song) 
"What  drop  or  nostrum  can  this  plague  remove? 
Or  which  must  end  me,  a  fool's  wrath  or  love  ? 
A  dire  dilemma !  either  way  I'm  sped, 
If  foes,  they  write, — if  friends,  they  read  me  dead. 
Seized  and  tied  down  to  judge,  how  wretched  I ! 
Who  can't  be  silent,  and  who  will  not  lie : 
To  laugh,  were  want  of  goodness  and  of  grace, 
And  to  be  grave,  exceeds  all  power  of  lace. 
I  sit  with  sad  civility,  I  read 
With  honest  anguish,  and  an  aching  head ; 
And  drop  at  last,  but  in  unwilling  ears, 
This  saving  counsel,  "  Keep  your  piece  nine  years." 

Nine  years !  cries  he,  who  high  in  Drury-lane, 
Lull'd  by  soft  zephyrs  through  the  broken  pane, 
Rhymes  ere  he  wakes,  and  prints  before  Term  ends, 
Obliged  by  hunger,  and  request  of  friends 


PROLOGUE   TO  THE  SATIRES.  289 

a  The  piece,  you  think,  is  incorrect  1  why  take  it, 
I'm  all  submission,  what  you'd  have  it,  make  it." 

Three  things  another's  modest  wishes  bound, 
My  friendship  and  a  prologue,  and  ten  pound. 

Pitholeon  sends  to  me :  "  You  know  his  Grace, 
I  want  a  patron ;  ask  him  for  a  place." 
Pitholeon  libell'd  me— "but  here's  a  letter 
Informs  you,  sir,  'twas  when  he  knew  no  better. 
Dare  you  refuse  him  ?     Curl  invites  to  dine, 
He'll  write  a,  journal,  or  he'll  turn  divine." 
Bless  me!  a  packet. — "  Tis  a  stranger  sues, 
A  virgin  tragedy,  an  orphan  muse." 
If  I  dislike  it,  "  Furies,  death,  and  rage !" 
If  I  approve, "  Commend  it  to  the  stage." 
There  (thank  my  stars)  my  whole  commission  ends, 
The  players  and  I  are,  luckily,  no  friends. 
Fired  that  the  house  reject  him,  "  'Sdeath,  Til  print  it, 
And  shame  the  fools — Your  interest,  sir,  with  Lintot." 
Lintot,  dull  rogue!  will  think  your  price  too  much; 
"  Not,  sir,  if  you  revise  it,  and  retouch." 
All  my  demurs  but  double  his  attacks ; 
At  last  he  whispers,  "  Do ;  and  we  go  snacks." 
Glad  of  a  quarrel,  straight  I  clap  the  door, 
Sir,  let  me  see  your  works  and  you  no  more. 

'Tis  sung,  when  Midas'  ears  began  to  spring, 
(Midas,  a  sacred  person  and  a  king), 
His  very  minister  who  spied  them  first 
(Some  say  his  queen)  was  forced  to  speak  or  burst. 
And  is  not  mine,  my  friend,  a  sorer  case, 
When  every  coxcomb  perks  them  in  my  iace  ? 

A.  Good  friend,  forbear !  you  deal  in  dang'rous  things. 
I'd  never  name  queens,  ministers,  or  kings ; 
Keep  close  to  ears,  and  those  let  assos  prick, 
'Tis  nothing — P.  Nothing?  if  they  bite  and  kick ? 
Out  with  it,  DUNCIAD!  let  the  secret  pass, 
That  secret  to  each  fool,  that  he's  an  ass; 
The  truth  once  told  (and  wherefore  should  we  lie  ?) 
The  queen  of  Midas  slept,  and  so  may  I. 

You  think  this  cruel?  take  it  for  a  rule, 
No  creature  smarts  so  little  as  a  fool. 
Let  peals  of  laughter,  Codrus !  round  thee  break, 
Thou  unconcern'd  canst  hear  the  mighty  crack : 
Pit,  box,  and  gallery  in  convulsions  hurl'd, 
Thou  stand'st  unshook  amidst  a  bursting  world. 
26* 


290  PROLOGUE   TO   THE   SATIRES. 

Who  shames  a  scribbler  ?  break  one  cobweb  through, 

He  spins  the  slight,  self-pleasing  thread  anew : 

Destroy  his  fib,  or  sophistry,  in  vain, 

The  creature's  at  his  dirty  work  again, 

Throned  in  the  centre  of  his  thin  designs, 

Proud  of  a  vast  extent  of  flimsy  lines ! 

Whom  have  I  hurt  ?  has  poet  yet,  or  peer, 

Lost  the  arch'd  eyebrow,  or  Parnassian  sneer  ? 

And  has  not  Colley  still  his  lord,  and  whore  ? 

His  butchers  Henley,  his  freemasons  Moore? 

Does  not  one  table  Bavius  still  admit  ? 

Still  to  one  bishop  Philips  seem  a  wit? 

Still  Sappho— A.  Hold !  for  God's  sake— you'll  offend, 

No  names — be  calm — learn  prudence  of  a  friend: 

I  too  could  write,  and  I  am  twice  as  tall ; 

But  foes  like  these — P.  One  flatterer's  worse  than  all. 

Of  all  mad  creatures,  if  the  learn'd  are  right, 

It  is  the  slaver  kills,  and  not  the  bite. 

A  fool  quite  angry  is  quite  innocent, 

Alas!  'tis  ten  times  worse  when  they  repent. 

One  dedicates  in  high  heroic  prose, 
And  ridicules  beyond  a  hundred  foes : 
One  from  all  Grub-street  will  my  fame  defend, 
And,  more  abusive,  calls  himself  my  friend. 
This  prints  my  Letters,  that  expects  a  bribe, 
And  others  roar  aloud,  "  Subscribe,  subscribe." 

There  are,  who  to  my  person  pay  their  court : 
I  cough  like  Horace,  and,  though  lean,  am  short; 
Amman's  great  son  one  shoulder  had  too  high, 
Such  Ovid's  nose,  and  "  Sir!  you  have  an  eye."— 
Go  on,  obliging  creatures,  make  me  see, 
All  that  disgraced  my  betters,  met  in  me. 
Say  for  my  comfort,  languishing  in  bed, 
"Just  so  immortal  Maro  held  his  head:" 
And  when  I  die,  be  sure  you  let  me  know 
Great  Homer  died  three  thousand  years  ago. 

Why  did  I  write  ?  what  sin  to  me  unknown 
Dipp'd  me  in  ink,  my  parents',  or  my  own? 
As  yet  a  child,  nor  yet  a  fool  to  fame, 
I  lisp'd  in  numbers,  for  the  numbers  came. 
I  left  no  calling  for  this  idle  trade, 
No  duty  broke,  no  father  disobey'd. 
The  muse  but  served  to  ease  some  friend,  not  wife, 
To  help  me  through  this  long  disease,  my  life, 


PROLOGUE  TO  THE  SATIRES.  291 

To  second,  ARBUTHNOT  !  thy  art  and  care, 
And  teach,  the  being  you  preserved,  to  bear. 

A.  But  why  then  publish?     P.  Granville  the  polite, 
And  knowing  Walsh,  would  tell  me  I  could  write ; 
Well-natured  Garth  inflamed  with  early  praise, 
And  Congreve  loved,  and  Swift  endured  my  lays; 
The  courtly  Talbot,  Somers,  Sheffield  read, 
Even  mitred  Rochester  would  nod  the  head, 
And  St.  John's1  self  (great  Dryden's  friends  before) 
With  open  arms  received  one  poet  more. 
Happy  my  studies,  when  by  these  approved! 
Happier  their  author,  when  by  these  beloved ! 
From  these  the  world  will  judge  of  men  and  books 
Not  from  the  Burnets,  Oldmixons,  and  Cooks.2 

Soft  were  my  numbers ;  who  could  take  offence 
While  pure  description  held  the  place  of  sense  ? 
Like  gentle  Fanny's  was  my  flowery  theme, 
A  painted  mistress,  or  a  purling  stream. 
Yet  then  did  Gildon  draw  his  venal  quill; 
I  wish'd  the  man  a  dinner,  and  sate  still. 
Yet  then  did  Dennis  rave  hi  furious  fret; 
I  never  answer'd,  I  was  not  in  debt. 
If  want  provoked,  or  madness  made  them  print, 
I  waged  no  war  with  Bedlam  or  the  Mint. 

Did  some  more  sober  critic  come  abroad ; 
If  wrong,  I  smiled ;  if  right,  I  kiss'd  the  rod. 
Pains,  reading,  study,  are  their  just  pretence, 
And  all  they  want  is  spirit,  taste,  and  sense. 
Commas  and  points  they  set  exactly  right, 
And  'twere  a  sin  to  rob  them  of  their  mite. 
Yet  ne'er  one  sprig  of  laurel  graced  these  ribalds, 
From  slashing  Bentley  down  to  piddling  Tibbalds: 
Each  wight  who  reads  not,  and  but  scans  and  spells. 
Each  word-catcher  that  lives  on  syllables, 
Even  such  small  critics  some  regard  may  claim, 
Preserved  in  Milton's  or  in  Shakspeare's  name. 

1  All  these  were  patrons  or  admirers  of  Mr.  Dryden  ;  though  a  scan- 
dalous libel  against  him,  entitled  Drydmi'i  Satire  to  his  Mute,  lias  been 
printed  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  Somers,  of  which  he  was  wholly 
ignorant. 

These  are  the  persons  to  whose  account  the  author  charges  the  pub- 
lication of  his  first  pieces  :  persons  with  whom  he  was  conversant  (and 
he  adds  beloved)  at  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  of  age ;  an  early  period 
for  such  acquaintance. 

2  Authors  of  secret  and  scandalous  history. 


292  PROLOGUE   TO   THE   SATIRES. 

Pretty !  in  amber  to  observe  the  forms 
Of  hairs,  or  straws,  or  dirt,  or  grubs,  or  worms! 
The  things,  we  know,  are  neither  rich  nor  rare. 
But  wonder  how  the  devil  they  got  there. 

Were  others  angry :  I  excused  them  too ; 
Well  might  they  rage,  I  gave  them  but  their  due. 
A  man's  true  merit  'tis  not  hard  to  find ; 
But  each  man's  secret  standard  in  his  mind, 
That  casting-weight  pride  adds  to  emptiness, 
This,  who  can  gratify?  for  who  can  guess? 
The  bard  whom  pilfer'd  pastorals  renown, 
Who  turns  a  Persian  tale1  for  half-a-crown, 
Just  writes  to  make  his  barrenness  appear, 
And  strains,  from  hard-bound  brains,  eight  lines  a-year; 
He,  who  still  wanting,  though  he  lives  on  theft, 
Steals  much,  spends  little,  yet  has  nothing  left: 
And  he,  who  now  to  sense,  now  nonsense  leaning, 
Means  not,  but  blunders  round  about  a  meaning: 
And  he,  whose  fustian's  so  sublimely  bad, 
It  is  not  poetry,  but  prose  run  mad : 
All  these,  my  modest  satire  bade  translate, 
And  own'd  that  nine  such  Poets  made  a  Tate. 
How  did  they  fume,  and  stamp,  and  roar,  and  chafe ! 
And  swear  not  ADDISON  himself  was  safe. 

Peace  to  all  such !  but  were  there  one  whose  fires 
True  genius  kindles,  and  fair  fame  inspires ; 
Blest  with  each  talent  and  each  art  to  please, 
And  born  to  write,  converse,  and  live  with  ease: 
Should  such  a  man,  too  fond  to  rule  alone, 
Bear,  like  the  Turk,  no  brother  near  the  throne, 
View  him  with  scornful,  yet  with  jealous  eyes, 
And  hate  for  arts  that  caused  himself  to  rise ; 
Damn  with  faint  praise,  assent  with  civil  leer, 
And  without  sneering,  teach  the  rest  to  sneer; 
Willing  to  wound,  and  yet  afraid  to  strike 
Just  hint  a  fault,  and  hesitate  dislike ; 
Alike  reserved  to  blame,  or  to  commend, 
A  timorous  foe,  and  a  suspicious  friend ; 
Dreading  e'en  fools,  by  flatterers  besieged, 
And  so  obliging,  that  he  ne'er  obliged; 
Like  Cato,  give  his  little  senate  laws, 
And  sit  attentive  to  his  own  applause ; 

1  Arab.  Philips  translated  a  book  called  the  Persian  Tales,  a  book  ftill 
Of  fancy  and  imagination. 


PROLOGUE  TO   TUB  SATIRES.  293 

While  wits  and  templars  every  sentence  raise, 
And  wonder  with  a  foolish  face  of  praise — 
Who  but  must  laugh,  if  such  a  man  there  be? 
Who  would  not  weep,  if  ATTICUS  were  he? 

What  though  my  name  stood  rubric  on  the  walls, 
Or  plaster'd  posts,  with  claps,  in  capitals? 
Or  smoking  forth,  a  hundred  hawkers'  load, 
On  wings  of  winds  came  flying  all  abroad  ! 
I  sought  no  homage  from  the  race  that  write ; 
I  kept,  like  Asian  monarchs,  from  their  sight: 
Poems  I  heeded  (now  be-rhymed  so  long) 
No  more  than  thou,  great  GKOEOE  !  a  birthday  song. 
I  ne'er  with  wits  or  witlings  pass'd  my  days, 
To  spread  about  the  itch  of  verse  and  praise ; 
Nor  like  a  puppy,  daggled  through  the  town, 
To  fetch  and  carry  sing-song  up  and  down ; 
Nor  at  rehearsals  sweat,  and  mouth'd,  and  cried, 
With  handkerchief  and  orange  at  my  side; 
But  sick  of  fops,  and  poetry,  and  prate, 
To  Bufo  left  the  whole  Castalian  state. 

Proud  as  Apollo  on  his  forked  hill, 
Sat  full-blown  Bufo,  puff'd  by  every  quill ; 
Fed  with  soft  dedication  all  day  long, 
Horace  and  he  went  hand  and  hand  in  song. 
His  library  (where  busts  of  poets  dead 
And  a  true  Pindar  stood  without  a  head) 
Eeceived  of  wits  an  undistinguish'd  race, 
Who  first  his  judgment  ask'd,  and  then  a  place: 
Much  they  extoll'd  his  pictures,  much  his  seat, 
And  flatter'd  every  day,  and  some  days  eat : 
Till  grown  more  frugal  in  his  riper  days, 
He  paid  some  bards  with  port,  and  some  with  praise ; 
To  some  a  dry  rehearsal  was  assign'd, 
And  others  (harder  still)  he  paid  in  kind. 
Dryden  alone  (what  wonder  ?)  came  not  nigh, 
Dryden  alone  escaped  this  judging  eye: 
But  still  the  great  have  kindness  in  reserve, 
He  help'd  to  bury  whom  he  help'd  to  starve. 

May  some  choice  patron  bless  his  grey  goose-quill ! 
May  every  Bavius  have  his  Bufo  still! 
So  when  a  statesman  wants  a  day's  defence, 
Or  envy  holds  a  whole  week's  war  with  sense, 


Or  simple  prkle  for  flattery  mak^s  demands, 
May  dunce  by  dunce  be  whistled  ( 


listled  off  my  hands ! 


294  PROLOGUE   TO   THE   SATIRES, 

Bless'd  be  the  great,  for  those  they  take  away, 

And  those  they  left  me  —  for  they  left  me  GAY  ; 

Left  me  to  see  neglected  genius  bloom, 

Neglected  die,  and  tell  it  on  his  tomb  : 

Of  all  thy  blameless  life,  the  sole  return 

My  verse,  and  QUEENSBERRY  weeping  o'er  thy  urn  ! 

Oh  let  me  live  my  own,  and  die  so  too  ! 

(To  live  and  die  is  all  I  have  to  do) 

Maintain  a  poet's  dignity  and  ease, 

And  see  what  friends,  and  read  what  books  I  please1 

Above  a  patron,  though  I  condescend 

Sometimes  to  call  a  minister  my  triend. 

I  was  not  born  for  courts  or  great  affairs; 

I  pay  my  debts,  believe,  and  say  my  prayers; 


Can  sleep  without  a  poem  in  my  he 
K  or  know  if  Dennis  be  alive  or  dead. 

Why  am  I  ask'd  what  next  shall  see  the  light  ? 
Heavens  !  was  I  born  for  nothing  but  to  write  1 
Has  life  no  joys  for  me  ?  or  (to  be  grave) 
Have  I  no  friend  to  serve,  no  soul  to  save  ? 
"  I  found  him  close  with  Swift  —  Indeed  1  no  doubt 
(Cries  prating  JSalbus)  something  will  come  out." 
'Tis  all  in  vain,  deny  it  as  I  will  ; 
"  No,  such  a  genius  never  can  lie  still  ;" 
And  then  for  mine  obligingly  mistakes 
The  first  lampoon  Sir  Will,  or  Bubo  makes. 
Poor  guiltless  I  !  and  can  I  choose  but  smile, 
When  every  coxcomb  knows  me  by  my  style  1 

Cursed  be  the  verse,  how  well  soe'er  it  flow, 
That  tends  to  make  one  worthy  man  my  foe, 
Give  virtue  scandal,  innocence  a  fear, 
Or  from  the  soft-eyed  virgin  steal  a  tear  ! 
But  he  who  hurts  a  harmless  neighbour's  peace, 
Insults  fallen  worth,  or  beauty  in  distress, 
Who  loves  a  lie,  lame  slander  helps  about, 
Who  writes  a  libel,  or  who  copies  out: 
That  fop  whose  pride  affects  a  patron's  name, 
Yet  absent  wounds  an  author's  honest  fame: 
Who  can  your  merit  sdjiMy  approve, 
And  show  the  sense  of  it  without  the  love; 
Who  has  the  vanity  to  call  you  friend, 
Yet  wants  the  honour,  injured,  to  defend; 
Who  tells  whate'er  you  think,  whate'er  you  say, 
And,  if  he  lie  not,  must  at  least  betray: 


PROLOGUE   TO    THE   SATIRES.  295 

Who  to  the  Dean,  and  silver  bell  can  swear, 
And  sees  at  Canoiis  what  was  never  there ; 
Who  reads  but  with  a  lust  to  misapply, 
Make  satire  a  lampoon,  and  fiction  lie  ; 
A  lash  like  mine  no  honest  man  shall  dread, 
But  all  such  babbling  blockheads  in  his  stead. 

Let  Sporus  tremble — A.  AVhat  ?  that  thing  of  silk, 
Sporus,  that  mere  white  curd  of  ass's  milk  ? 
Satire  of  sense,  alas  !  can  Sporus  feel  ? 
Who  breaks  a  butterfly  upon  a  wheel  1 

P.  Yet  let  me  flap  this  bug  with  gilded  wings, 
This  painted  child  of  dirt,  that  stinks  and  stings; 
Whose  buzz  the  witty  and  the  fair  annoys, 
Yet  wit  ne'er  tastes,  and  beauty  ne'er  enjoys: 
So  well-bred  spaniels  civilly  delight 
In  mumbling  of  the  game  they  dare  not  bite. 
Eternal  smiles  his  emptiness  betray, 
As  shallow  streams  run  dimpling  all  the  way. 
Whether  in  florid  impotence  he  speaks, 
And,  as  the  prompter  breathes,  the  puppet  squeaks, 
Or  at  the  ear  of  Eve,  familiar  toad, 
Halt  froth,  half  venom,  sj 
In  puns,  or  politics,  or  tales,  or  lies, 
Or  spite,  or  smut,  or  rhymes,  or  blasphemies. 
His  wit  all  see-saw,  between  that  and  this. 
Now  high,  now  low,  now  master  up,  now  miss, 
And  he  himself  one  vile  antithesis. 
Amphibious  thing  !  that  acting  either  part, 
The  trifling  head,  or  the  corrupted  heart, 
Fop  at  the  toilet,  flatterer  at  the  board, 
Now  trips  a  lady,  and  now  struts  a  lord. 
Eve's  tempter  thus  the  rabbins  have  express'd, 
A  cherub's  face,  a  reptile  all  the  rest, 
Eeauty  that  shocks  you,  parts  that  none  will  trust, 
Wit  that  can  creep,  and  pride  that  licks  the  dust. 

Not  fortune's  worshipper,  nor  fashion's  fool, 
Not  lucre's  madman,  nor  ambition's  tool, 
Not  proud,  nor  servile ;  be  one  poet's  praise, 
That,  if  he  pleased,  he  pleased  by  manly  ways: 
That  flattery,  even  to  kings,  he  held  a  shame, 
And  thought  a  lie  in  verse  or  prose  the  same: 
That  not  in  fancy's  maze  he  wander'd  long, 
But  stoop'd  to  truth,  and  moralized  his  song : 
That  not  for  fame,  but  virtue's  better  end, 
He  stood  the  furious  foe,  the  timid  friend, 


296  PROLOGUE   TO   THE    SATIRES. 

The  damning  critic,  half-approving  wit, 
The  coxcomb  hit,  or  fearing  to  be  hit; 
Laugh'd  at  the  loss  of  friends  he  never  had, 
The  dull,  the  proud,  the  wicked,  and  the  mad; 
The  distant  threats  of  vengeance  on  his  head, 
The  blow  unfelt,  the  tear  he  never  shed ; 
The  tale  revived,  the  lie  so  oft  o'erthrown,1 
The  imputed  trash,  and  dulness  not  his  own; 
The  morals  blacken'd  when  the  writings  'scape, 
The  libell'd  person,  and  the  pictured  shape  ; 
Abuse  on  all  he  loved,  or  loved  him,  spread,8 
A  friend  in  exile,  or  a  father  dead ; 
The  whisper,  that  to  greatness  still  too  near, 
Perhaps,  yet  vibrates  on  his  SOVEREIGN'S  ear — 
Welcome  for  thee,  fair  virtue  !  all  the  past : 
For  thee,  fair  virtue  !  welcome  even  the  last! 

A.  But  why  insult  the  poor,  affront  the  great  ? 

P.  A  knave's  a  knave  to  me,  in  every  state : 
Alike  my  scorn,  if  he  succeed  or  fail, 
Sporus  at  court,  or  Japhet  in  a  jail, 
A  hireling  scribbler,  or  a  hireling  peer, 
Knight  of  the  post  corrupt,  or  of  the  shire; 
If  on  a  pillory,  or  near  a  throne, 
He  gain  his  prince's  ear,  or  lose  his  own. 

Yet  soft  by  nature,  more  a  dupe  than  wit, 
Sappho  can  tell  you  how  this  man  was  bit: 
This  dreaded  satirist  Dennis  will  confess 
Foe  to  his  pride,  but  friend  to  his  distress : 
So  humble,  he  has  knock'd  at  TibbcdcTs  door, 
Has  drunk  with  Gibber,  nay  has  rhymed  for  Moore. 
Full  ten  years3  slander'd,  did  he  once  reply  1 
Three  thousand  suns  went  down  on  WelsteoFs  lie.4 

1  As,  that  he  received  subscriptions  for  Shakspeare,  that  he  set  his 
name  to  Mr.  Broome's  verses,  &c.,  which,  though  publicly  disproved, 
were  nevertheless  shamelessly  repeated  in  the  Libels,  and  even  in  that 
called  the  Nobleman's  Epistle. 

2  Namely,  on  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  the  Earl  of  Burlington,  Lord 
Bathurst,  Lord  Bolingbroke,  Bishop  Atterbury,  Dr.  Swift,  Dr.  Arbuth- 
not,  Mr.  Gay,  his  friends,  his  parents,  and  his  very  nurse,  aspersed  in 
printed  papers,  by  James  Moore,  G.  Duckett,  L.  Welsted,  Tho.  Bentley, 
and  other  obscure  persons. 

3  It  was  so  long,  after  many  libels,  before  the  author  of  the  Dunciad 
published  that  poem ;  till  when,  he  never  writ  a  word  in  answer  to  the 
many  scurrilities  and  falsehoods  concerning  him. 

4  This  man  had  the  impudence  to  tell,  in  print,  that  Mr.  P.  had  occa- 
sioned a  lady's  death,  and  to  name  a  person  he  never  heard  of.     He  also 
published  that  be  libelled  the  Duke  of  Chandos ;  with  whom  (it  was 


PROLOGUE  TO   THE  SATIRES.  297 

To  please  his  mistress,  one  aspersed  his  life ; 
He  lash'd  him  not,  but  let  her  be  his  wife : 
Let  Budgell1  charge  low  Grub-street  on  his  quill, 
And  write  whate'er  he  pleased,  except  his  will  j1 
Let  the  two  Curlls  of  town  and  court,  abuse 
His  father,  mother,  body,  soul,  and  muse.3 
Yet  why  ?  that  father  held  it  for  a  rule, 
It  was  a  sin  to  call  our  neighbour  fool: 
That  harmless  mother  thought  no  wife  a  whore : 
Hear  this,  and  spare  his  family,  James  Moore  I 
Unspotted  names,  and  memorable  long ! 
If  there  be  iorce  in  virtue,  or  in  song. 

added)  that  he  had  lived  in  familiarity,  and  received  from  him  a 
present  of  five  hundred  pounds:  the  falsehood  of  both  which  is  known 
to  his  Grace.  Mr.  P.  never  received  any  present,  farther  than  the 
subscription  for  Homer,  from  him,  or  from  any  great  man  whatsoever. 

1  Budgell,  in  a  weekly  pamphlet  called  The  Bee,  bestowed  much  abuse 
on  him,  in  the  imagination  that  he  writ  some  things  about  the  lait  will 
of  Dr.  Tindal,  in  the  Grub-street  Journal;  a  paper  wherein  lie  never  had 
the  least  hand,  direction,  or  supervisal,  nor  the  least  knowledge  of  its 
author. 

2  Alluding  to  Tindal's  will :  by  which,  and  other  indirect  practices, 
Budgell,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  next  heir,  a  nephew,  got  to  himself 
almost  the  whole  fortune  of  a  man  entirely  unrelated  to  him. 

3  In  some  of  Curll's  and  other  pamphlets,  Mr.  Pope's  father  was  said 
to  be  a  mechanic,  a  hatter,  a  farmer,  nay,  a  bankrupt.    But,  what  is 
stranger,  a  nobleman  (if  such  a  reflection  could  be  thought  to  come  from 
a  nobleman)  had  dropt  an  allusion  to  that  pitiful  untruth,  in  a  paper 
called  An  Epistle  to  a  Doctor  of  Divinity;  and  the  following  line, 

"  Hard  as  thy  heart,  and  as  thy  birth  obscure,1* 

had  fallen  from  a  like  courtly  pen,  in  certain  verses  to  the  imitator  of  Horace. 
Mr.  Pope's  father  was  of  a  gentleman's  family  in  Oxfordshire,  the  head 
of  which  was  the  Earl  of  Downe,  whose  sole  heiress  married  the  Earl  of 
Lindsay.— His  mother  was  the  daughter  of  William  Turner,  Esq.,  of 
York:  she  had  three  brothers,  one  of  whom  was  killed,  another  died  in 
the  service  of  King  Charles ;  the  eldest  following  his  fortunes,  and  be- 
coming a  general  officer  in  Spain,  left  her  what  estate  remained  after 
the  sequestrations  and  forfeitures  of  her  family. — Mr.  Pope  died  in  1717, 
aged  75  ;  she  in  1733,  aged  S3,  a  very  few  weeks  after  this  poem  was 
finished.  The  following  inscription  was  placed  by  their  son  on  their 
monument  in  the  parish  of  Twickenham,  in  Middlesex:— 
D.  O.  M. 

AIiEXANDKO.  POPE.  VJHO.  INNOCVO.  PKOBO.  PIO« 

QUI.  V1XIT.  ANNOS.  LXXV.  OB.  MDCCXVI1, 

ET.  EDITHS.  CON1VGI.  1NCVI/PAB1LI. 

MEKTISSISLE.  <*UJE.  VIX1T.  ANNOS. 

XCIII.  OB.  MOCCXXXIII. 

PARENT1BVS.  BKNEMEHKNTIBVS.  FII.IVS.  FECIT*' 
ET.  S1B1. 

27 


y»  PKOLOGUJE   TO    THE    SATIREa 

Of  gentle  blood  (part  shed  in  honour's  cause, 
While  yet  in  Britain  honour  had  applause) 
Each  parent  sprung — A.  What  fortune,  pray? — 

P.  Their  own ; 

And  better  got,  than  BesticCs  from  the  throne. 
Born  to  no  pride,  inheriting  no  strife, 
Nor  marrying  discord  in  a  noble  wife, 
Stranger  to  civil  and  religious  rage, 
The  good  man  walk'd  innoxious  through  his  age. 
No  courts  he  saw,  no  suits  would  ever  try, 
Nor  dared  an  oath,  nor  hazarded  a  lie. 
Unlearn'd,  he  knew  no  schoolman's  subtle  art, 
No  language  but  the  language  of  the  heart. 
By  nature  honest,  by  experience  wise, 
Healthy  by  temperance,  and  by  exercise ; 
His  life,  though  long,  to  sickness  past  unknown, 
His  death  was  instant,  and  without  a  groan. 
O  grant  me  thus  to  live,  and  thus  to  die  ! 
Who  sprung  from  kings  shall  know  less  joy  than  I. 

O  friend  !  may  each  domestic  bliss  be  thine  1 
Be  no  unpleasing  melancholy  mine : 
Me,  let  the  tender  office  long  engage, 
To  rock  the  cradle  of  reposing  age, 
With  lenient  arts  extend  a  mother's  breath, 
Make  languor  smile,  and  smooth  the  bed  of  death, 
Explore  the  thought,  explain  the  asking  eye, 
And  keep  a  while  one  parent  from  the  sky ! 
On  cares  like  these,  if  length  of  days  attend, 
May  Heaven,  to  bless  those  days,  preserve  my  friend, 
Preserve  him  social,  cheerful,  and  serene, 
And  just  as  rich  as  when  he  served  a  QUEEN: 

A.  Whether  that  blessing  be  denied  or  given, 
Thus  far  was  right,  the  rest  belongs  to  Heaven. 


299 


SATIRES  AND  EPISTLES  OF  HORACE 
IMITATED. 

Ludentis  speciem  dabit,  et  torquebitur.— HOR. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

THE  occasion  of  publishing  these  Imitations  was  the  clamour  raised  on 
some  of  my  Epistle*.  An  answer  from  Horace  was  both  more  full,  and  of 
more  dignity,  than  any  I  could  have  made  in  my  own  person  ;  and  the 
example  of  much  greater  freedom  in  so  eminent  a  divine  as  Dr.  Donne, 
seemed  a  proof  with  what  indignation  and  contempt  a  Christian  may 
treat  vice  or  folly,  in  ever  so  low,  or  ever  so  high  a  station.  Both  these 
authors  were  acceptable  to  the  prince*  and  minister*  under  whom  they 
lived.  The  Satires  of  Dr.  Donne  I  versified  at  the  desire  of  the  Earl  of 
Oxford,  while  he  was  lord  treasurer,  and  of  the  Duke  of  Shrewsbury, 
who  had  been  secretary  of  state ;  neither  of  whom  looked  upon  a  satire 
on  vicious  courts  as  any  reflection  on  those  they  served  in.  And  indeed 
there  is  not  in  the  world  a  greater  error  than  that  which  fools  are  so  apt 
to  fall  into,  and  knaves  with  good  reason  to  encourage, — the  mistaking 
8  satiHit  for  a  libeller,  whereas  to  a  true  satirist  nothing  is  so  odious  as  a 
libeller,  for  the  same  reason  as  to  a  man  truly  tirtuout  nothing  is  so 
hateful  as  a  hypocrite. 

Uni  a'qiius  tirtuti  utque  ejtu  amid*. 


SATIKE  I. 

TO  MR.  FORTESCUE. 

P.  THERE  are,  (I  scarce  can  think  it,  but  am  told) 
There  are,  to  whom  my  Satire  seems  too  bold : 
Scarce  to  wise  Peter  complaisant  enough, 
And  something  said  of  Chartres  much  too  rough. 
The  lines  are  weak,  another's  pleased  to  say, 
Lord  Fanny  spins  a  thousand  such  a  day. 
Timorous  by  nature,  of  the  rich  in  awe, 
I  come  to  counsel  learned  in  the  law : 
You'll  give  me,  like  a  friend  both  sage  and  free, 
Advice;  and  (as  you  use)  without  a  fee. 


300  IMITATIONS  OF  IIORACE. 

F.  I'd  write  no  more. 

P.  Not  write  ?  but  then  I  think, 
And  for  my  soul  I  cannot  sleep  a  wink, 
I  nod  in  company,  I  wake  at  night, 
Fools  rush  into  my  head,  and  so  I  write. 

F.  You  could  not  do  a  worse  thing  for  your  life. 
Why,  ii  the  nights  seem  tedious — take  a  wife: 
Or  rather  truly,  if  your  point  be  rest, 
Lettuce  and  cowslip-wine ;  probatum  est. 
But  talk  with  Celsus,  Celsus  will  advise 
Hartshorn,  or  something  that  shall  close  your  eyes. 
Or,  it  you  needs  must  write,  write  CESAR'S  praise, 
You'll  gain  at  least  a  knighthood,  or  the  bays. 

P.  What  ?   like   Sir  Richard,  rumbling,  rough,  and 

fierce, 
With  ARMS,  and  GEORGE,  and  BRUNSWICK,  crowd  the 

verse, 

Rend  with  tremendous  sound  your  ears  asunder, 
With  gun,  drum,  trumpet,  blunderbuss,  and  thunder  ? 
Or  nobly  wild,  with  Budgell's  fire  and  force, 
Paint  angels  trembling  round  his  falling  horse  ? 

F.  Then  all  your  muse's  softer  art  display, 
Let  CAROLINA  smooth  the  tuneful  lay, 
Lull  with  A  MELIA'S  liquid  name  the  nine, 
And  sweetly  flow  through  all  the  royal  line. 

P.  Alas !  few  verses  touch  their  nicer  ear ; 
They  scarce  can  bear  their  laureat  twice  a  year; 
And  justly  (LESAR  scorns  the  poet's  lays, 
It  is  to  history  he  trusts  for  praise. 

F.  Better  be  Cibber,  I'll  maintain  it  still, 
Than  ridicule  all  taste,  blaspheme  quadrille, 
Abuse  the  city's  best  good  men  in  metre, 
And  laugh  at  peers  that  put  their  trust  in  Peter. 
E'en  those  you  touch  not  hate  you. 

P.  What  should  ail  'em  ? 

F.  A  hundred  smart  in  Timon  and  in  Balaam: 
The  fewer  still  you  name,  you  wound  the  more; 
Bond  is  but  one,  but  Harpax  is  a  score. 

P.  Each  mortal  has  his  pleasure :  none  deny 
Scarsdale  his  bottle,  Darty  his  ham-pie ; 
Ridotta  sips  and  dances,  till  she  see 
The  doubling  lustres  dance  as  fast  as  she ; 

F loves  the  senate,  Hockley-hole  his  brother, 

Like  in  all  else,  as  one  egg-  to  another. 


IMITATIUXS   OF   IIOH  ACE.  301 

I  love  to  pour  out  all  myself  as  plain 

As  downright  SHIPPEN,  or  as  old  Montaigne: 

In  them  as~  certain  to  be  loved  as  seen,  v 

The  soul  stood  torth,  nor  kept  a  thought  within; 

In  me  what  spots  (for  spots  I  have)  appear, 

Will  prove  at  least  the  medium  must  be  clear. 

In  this  impartial  glass,  my  muse  intends 

Fair  to  expose  myself,  my  foes,  my  friends ; 

Publish  the  present  age ;  but  where  my  text 

Is  vice  too  high,  reserve  it  for  the  next; 

My  foes  shall  wish  my  life  a  longer  date, 

And  every  friend  the  less  lament  my  fate. 

My  head  and  heart  thus  flowing  through  my  quill, 

Verse-man  or  prose-man,  term  me  which  you  will, 

Papist  or  Protestant,  or  both  between, 

Like  good  Erasmus  in  an  honest  mean, 

In  moderation  placing  all  my  glory, 

While  tories  call  me  whig,  and  whigs  a  tory. 

Satire's  my  weapon,  but  I'm  too  discreet 
To  run  a  muck,  and  tilt  at  all  I  meet; 
I  only  wear  it  in  a  land  of  Hectors, 
Thieves,  supercargoes,  sharpers,  and  directors. 
Save  but  our  army !  and  let  Jove  incrust 
Swords,  pikes,  and  guns,  with  everlasting  rust ! 
Peace  is  my  dear  delight — not  FLEURY'S  more: 
But  touch  me,  and  no  minister  so  sore. 
Whoe'er  offends,  at  some  unlucky  time 
Slides  into  verse,  and  hitches  in  a  rhyme, 
Sacred  to  ridicule  his  whole  life-long, 
And  the  sad  burthen  of  some  merry  song. 

Slander  or  poison  dread  from  Delia's  rage, 
Hai'd  words  or  hanging,  if  your  judge  be  Page. 
From  furious  Sappho  scarce  a  milder  fate, 
Pox'd  by  her  love,  or  libell'd  by  her  hate. 
Its  proper  power  to  hurt,  each  creature  feels; 
Bulls  aim  their  horns,  and  asses  lift  their  heels 
'Tis  a  bear's  talent  not  to  kick,  but  hug; 
And  no  man  wonders  he's  not  stung  by  pug. 
So  drink  with  Walters,  or  with  Clmrtres  eat, 
They'll  never  poison  you,  they'll  only  cheat. 

Then,  learned  Sir  !  (to  cut  the  matter  short) 
Whate'er  my  fate,  or  well  or  ill  at  court, 
Whether  old  age,  with  faint  but  cheerful  ray, 
Attends  to  gild  the  evening  of  my  day, 

27* 


302  IMITATIONS    OF    HORACE. 

Or  Death's  black  wing  already  be  display'd, 
To  wrap  me  in  the  universal  shade ; 
Whether  the  darken'd  room  to  muse  invite, 
Or  whiten'd  wall  provoke  the  skewer  to  write ; 
In  durance,  exile,  Bedlam,  or  the  Mint, 
Like  Lee  or  Budgell,  I  will  rhyme  and  print. 

F.  Alas,  young  man  !  your  days  can  ne'er  be  long ! 
In  flower  of  age  you  perish  for  a  song ! 
Plums  and  directors,  Shylock  and  his  wife, 
Will  club  their  testers,  now,  to  take  your  life  ! 

P.  What  ?  arm'd  for  virtue  when  I  point  the  pen, 
Brand  the  bold  front  of  shameless  guilty  men ; 
Dash  the  proud  gamester  in  his  gilded  car ; 
Bare  the  mean  heart  that  lurks  beneath  a  star; 
Can  there  be  wanting,  to  defend  her  cause, 
Lights  of  the  church,  or  guardians  of  the  laws  1 
Could  pension'd  Boileau  lash  in  honest  strain 
Flatterers  and  bigots  e'en  in  Louis'  reign  1 
Could  laureate  Dryden  pimp  and  friar  engage, 
Yet  neither  Charles  nor  James  be  in  a  rage  1 
And  I  not  strip  the  gilding  off  a  knave, 
Unplaced,  unpension'd,  no  man's  heir,  or  slave  ? 
I  will,  or  perish  in  the  generous  cause: 
Hear  this,  and  tremble  !  you  who  'scape  the  laws. 
Yes,  while  I  live,  no  rich  or  noble  knave 
Shall  walk  the  world,  in  credit,  to  his  grave. 

To  VIRTUE  ONLY  and  HER  FRIENDS  A  FRIEND, 

The  world  beside  may  murmur,  or  commend. 
Know,  all  the  distant  din  that  world  can  keep, 
Bolls  o'er  my  grotto,  and  but  soothes  my  sleep. 
There,  my  retreat  the  best  companions  grace, 
Chiefs  out  of  war,  and  statesmen  out  of  place. 
There  ST.  JOHN  mingles  with  my  friendly  bowl 
The  feast  of  reason  and  the  flow  of  soul : 
And  he,  whose  lightning  pierced  the  Iberian  lines,1 
Now  forms  my  quincunx,  and  now  ranks  my  vines, 
Or  tames  the  genius  of  the  stubborn  plain 
Almost  as  quickly  as  he  conquer'd  Spain. 
Envy  must  own  I  live  among  the  great, 
No  pimp  of  pleasure,  and  no  spy  of  state, 

1  Charles  Mordaunt,  Earl  of  Peterborough,  who  in  the  year  1 705  took 
Barcelona,  and  in  the  winter  following,  with  only  two  hundred  and 
eighty  horse  and  nine  hundred  foot  enterprised  and  accomplished  th« 
conquest  of  Valencia. 


IMITATIONS   OF   HORACE.  303 

With  eyes  that  pry  not,  tongue  that  ne'er  repeats, 
Fond  to  spread  friendships,  but  to  cover  heats ; 
To  help  who  want,  to  forward  who  excel ; 
This  all  who  know  me,  know ;  who  love  me,  tell ; 
And  who  unknown  defame  me,  let  them  be 
Scribblers  or  peers,  alike  are  mob  to  me. 
This  is  my  plea,  on  this  I  rest  my  cause — 
What  saith  my  counsel,  learned  in  the  laws  ? 

F.  Your  plea  is  good ;  but  still  I  say  beware ! 
Laws  are  explain'd  by  men — so  have  a  care. 
It  stands  on  record,  that  in  Richard's  times 
A  man  was  hang'd  for  very  honest  rhymes. 
Consult  the  statute :  quart.  I  think,  it  is, 
Edwardi  sext.  or  prim,  et  quint.  Eliz. 
See  Libels,  Satires — here  you  have  it — read. 

P.  Libels  and  Satires!  lawless  things  indeed ! 
But  grave  epistles,  bringing  vice  to  light. 
Such  as  a  king  might  read,  a  bishop  write, 
Such  as  SIR  ROBERT  would  approve — 

F.  Indeed! 

The  case  is  alter'd — you  may  then  proceed ; 
In  such  a  cause  the  plaintiff"  will  be  hiss'd, 
My  lords  the  judges  laugh,  and  you're  dismiss'd. 


THE  SECOND  SATIRE 
OF  THE 

SECOND  BOOK  OF  HORACE. 

TO  MR.  BETHEL. 

WHAT,  and  how  great,  the  virtue  and  the  art 
To  live  on  little  with  a  cheerful  heart ; 
(A  doctrine  sage,  but  truly  none  of  mine) 
Let's  talk,  my  friends,  but  talk  before  we  dine. 
Not  when  a  gilt  buffet's  reflected  pride 
Turns  you  from  sound  philosophy  aside ; 
Not  when  from  plate  to  plate  your  eyeballs  roll, 
And  the  brain  dances  to  the  mantling  bowl. 

Hear  BETHEL'S  sermon,  one  not  versed  in  schools, 
But  strong  in  sense,  and  wise  without  the  rules. 


304  IMITATIONS   OP   HORACE. 

Go  -work,  hunt,  exercise  !  (he  thus  began) 
Then  scorn  a  homely  dinner,  it  you  can. 
Your  wine  lock'd  up,  your  butler  stroll'd  abroad, 
Or  fi^h  denied,  (the  river  yet  unthaw'd) 
If  then  plain  bread  and  milk  will  do  the  feat, 
The  pleasure  lies  in  you,  and  not  the  meat.  * 

Preach  as  I  please,  I  doubt  our  curious  men 
Will  choose  a  pheasant  still  before  a  hen; 
Yet  hens  of  Guinea  full  as  good  I  hold, 
Except  you  eat  the  feathers  green  and  gold. 
Of  carps  and  mullets  why  prefer  the  great, 
(Though  cut  in  pieces  ere  my  lord  can  eat) 
Yet  for  small  turbots  "such  esteem  profess  ? 
Because  God  made  these  large,  the  other  less. 
Oldfield  with  more  than  harpy  throat  endued, 
Cries  "  Send  me,  Gods  !  a  whole  hog  barbecued  I"1 
Oh  blast  it,  south  winds  !  till  a  stench  exhale 
Bank  as  the  ripeness  of  a  rabbit's  tail. 
By  what  criterion  do  ye  eat,  d'ye  think, 
If  this  is  prized  for  sweetness,  that  for  stink  ? 
When  the  tired  glutton  labours  through  a  treai^ 
He  finds  no  relish  in  the  sweetest  meat, 
He  calls  for  something  bitter,  something  sour, 
And  the  rich  feast  concludes  extremely  poor : 
Cheap  eggs,  and  herbs,  and  olives  still  we  seej 
Thus  much  is  left  of  old  simplicity; 
The  robin-redbreast  till  of  late  had  rest, 
And  children  sacred  held  a  martin's  nest, 
Till  beeaficos  sold  so  devilish  dear 
To  one  that  was,  or  would  have  been,  a  peer. 
Let  me  extol  a  cat,  on  oysters  fed  ; 
I'll  have  a  party  at  the  Bedford-head:2 
Or  e'en  to  crack  live  craw-fish  recommend ; 
I'd  never  doubt  at  court  to  make  a  friend. 
'Tis  yet  in  vain,  I  own,  to  keep  a  pother 
About  one  vice,  and  fall  into  the  other ; 
Between  excess  and  famine  lies  a  mean ; 
Plain,  but  not  sordid,  though  not  splendid,  clean. 

Avidien  or  his  wife,  (no  matter  which, 
For  him  you'll  call  a  dog,  and  her  a  bitch) 

1  A  West  Indian  term  of  gluttony;  a  hog  roasted  whole,  stuffed  with 
spice,  and  basted  with  Madeira  wine. 

2  A  famous  eating-house  in  Maiden-lane. 


p.  301. 


IMITATIONS   OF    HORACE. 


IMITATIONS   OF   HORACE.  303 

Sell  their  presented  partridges,  and  fruits, 

And  humbly  live  on  rabbits  and  on  roots: 

One  half-pint  bottle  serves  them  both  to  dine, 

And  is  at  once  their  vinegar  and  wine. 

But  on  some  lucky  day  (as  when  they  found 

A  lost  bank-bill,  or  heard  their  son  was  drown'd) 

At  such  a  feast,  old  vinegar  to  spare, 

Is  what  two  souls  so  generous  cannot  bear : 

Oil.  though  it  stink,  they  drop  by  drop  impart, 

But  souse  the  cabbage  with  a  bounteous  heart. 

He  knows  to  live,  who  keeps  the  middle  state, 
And  neither  leans  on  this  side,  nor  on  that; 
Nor  stops,  for  one  bad  cork,  his  butler's  pay, 
Swears,  like  Albutius,  a  good  cook  away; 
Nor  lets,  like  Nsevius,  every  error  pass, 
The  musty  wine,  foul  cloth,  or  greasy  glass. 

Now  hear  what  blessings  temperance  can  bring : 
(Thus  said  our  friend,  and  what  he  said  I  sing) 
First  health :  the  stomach  (cramm'd  from  every  4ish 
A  tomb  of  boil'd  and  roast,  and  flesh  and  fish, 
Where  bile,  and  wind,  and  phlegm,  and  acid  jar, 
And  all  the  man  is  one  intestine  war) 
Remembers  oft  the  schoolboy's  simple  fare, 
The  temperate  sleeps,  and  spirits  light  as  air. 

How  pale,  each  worshipful  and  reverend  guest 
Rise  from  a  clergy  or  a  city  feast ! 
What  life  in  all  that  ample  body  say? 
What  heavenly  particle  inspires  the  clay  1 
The  soul  subsides,  and  wickedly  inclines 
To  seem  but  mortal,  e'en  in  sound  divines. 

On  morning  wings  how  active  springs  the  mind 
That  leaves  the  load  of  yesterday  behind  1 
How  easy  every  labour  it  pursues  ? 
How  coming  to  the  poet  every  muse  ? 
Not  but  we  may  exceed,  some  holy  time, 
Or  tired  in  search  of  truth,  or  search  of  rhyme ; 
111  health  some  just  indulgence  may  engage, 
And  more  the  sickness  of  long  life,  old  age : 
For  fainting  age  what  cordial  drop  remains. 
If  our  intemperate  youth  the  vessel  drains  ? 

Our  fathers  praised  rank  venison.    You  suppose, 
Perhaps,  young  men,  our  fathers  had  no  nose. 
Not  so :  a  buck  was  then  a  week's  repast, 
And  'twas  their  point,  I  ween,  to  make  it  last; 


306  IMITATIONS   OF    HORACE. 

More  pleased  to  keep  it  till  their  friends  could  come, 
Than  eat  the  sweetest  by  themselves  at  home. 
Why  had  not  I  in  those  good  times  my  birth. 
Ere  coxcomb-pies,  or  coxcombs  were  on  earth  ? 

Unworthy  he  the  voice  of  Fame  to  hear, 
That  sweetest  music  to  an  honest  ear, 
(For  'faith,  Lord  Fanny  !  you  are  in  the  wrong, 
The  world's  good  word  is  better  than  a  song) 
Who  has  not  learn'd,  fresh  sturgeon  and  ham-pie 
Are  no  rewards  for  want,  and  infamy ! 
When  luxury  has  lick'd  up  all  thy  pelf, 
Cursed  by  thy  neighbours,  thy  trustees,  thyself, 
To  friends,  to  fortune,  to  mankind  a  shame, 
Think  how  posterity  will  treat  thy  name; 
And  buy  a  rope,  that  future  times  may  tell 
Thou  hast  at  least  bestow'd  one  penny  well. 

"  Eight,"  cries  his  lordship,  "  for  a  rogue  in.  need 
To  have  a  taste,  is  insolence  indeed : 
In  me  'tis  noble,  suits  my  birth  and  state, 
My  wealth  unwieldy,  and  my  heap  too  great."—* 
Then,  like  the  sun,  let  bounty  spread  her  ray, 
And  shine  that  superfluity  away. 
O  impudence  of  wealth  !  with  all  thy  store, 
How  darest  thou  let  one  worthy  man  be  poor  7 
Shall  half  the  new-built  churches  round  thee  fall  I 
Make  quays,  build  bridges,  or  repair  Whitehall: 
Or  to  thy  country  let  that  heap  be  lent, 
As  M  *  *  o's  was,  but  not  at  five  per  cent. 

Who  thinks  that  Fortune  cannot  change  her  mind, 
Prepares  a  dreadful  jest  for  all  mankind. 
And  who  stands  safest  ?  tell  me,  is  it  he 
That  spreads  and  swells  in  puff'd  prosperity, 
Or  blest  with  little,  whose  preventing  care 
In  peace  provides  fit  arms  against  a  war  1 

Thus  BETHEL  spoke,  who  always  speaks  his  thought, 
And  always  thinks  the  very  thing  he  ought: 
His  equal  mind  I  copy  what  I  can, 
And  as  I  love,  would  imitate  the  man. 
In  South-sea  days  not  happier,  when  surmised 
The  lord  of  thousands,  than  if  now  excised ; 
In  forest  planted  by  a  father's  hand, 
Than  in  five  acres  now  of  rented  land. 
Content  with  little,  I  can  piddle  here 
On  brocoli  and  mutton  round  the  year; 


IMITATION'S   OF   HORACE.  307 

But  ancient  friends  (though  poor,  or  out  of  play) 

That  touch  my  bell,  I  cannot  turn  away. 

Tis  true,  no  turbots  dignify  my  boards, 

But  gudgeons,  flounders,  what  my  Thames  affords : 

To  Hounslow-heath  I  point,  and  Banstead-down, 

Thence  comes  your  mutton,  and  these  chicks  my  own: 

From  yon  old  walnut-tree  a  shower  shall  fallj 

And  grapes,  long  lingering  on  my  only  wall, 

And  tigs  from  standard  and  espalier  join; 

The  devil  is  in  you  if  you  cannot  dine : 

Then  cheerful  healths,  (your  mistress  shall  have  place) 

And,  what's  more  rare,  a  poet  shall  say  grace. 

Fortune  not  much  of  humbling  me  can  boast ; 
Though  double  tax'd,  how  little  have  I  lost  ? 
My  life's  amusements  have  been  just  the  same*, 
Before  and  after  standing  armies  came. 
My  lands  are  sold,  my  father's  house  is  gone ; 
I'll  hire  another's;  is  not  that  my  own, 
And  yours,  my  friends  ?  through  whose  free-opening  gate 
None  comes  too  early,  none  departs  too  late ; 
(For  I  who  hold  sage  Homer's  rule  the  best, 
Welcome  the  coming,  speed  the  going  guest.) 
"  Pray  Heaven  it  last !"  (cries  SWIFT)  "  as  you  go  on 
I  wish  to  God  this  house  had  been  your  own: 
Pity  !  to  build,  without  a  son  or  wife  : 
Why,  you'll  enjoy  it  only  all  your  life." 
Well,  if  the  use  be  mine,  can  it  concern  one, 
Whether  the  name  belong  to  Pope  or  Vernon  ? 
What's  property  ?  dear  Swift !  you  see  it  alter 
From  you  to  me,  from  me  to  Peter  Walter; 
Or,  in  a  mortgage,  prove  a  lawyer's  share ; 
Or,  in  a  jointure,  vanish  from  the  heir; 
Or,  in  pure  equity,  (the  case  not  clear) 
The  Chancery  takes  your  rents  for  twenty  year : 
At  best,  it  falls  to  some  ungracious  son, 
Who  cries,  "  My  father's  darun'd,  and  all's  my  own," 
Shades,  that  to  BACON  could  retreat  afford, 
Become  the  portion  of  a  booby  lord ; 
And  Hemsley,  once  proud  Buckingham's  delight,1 
Slides  to  a  scrivener  or  a  city  knight. 
Let  lands  and  houses  have  what  lords  they  will, 
Let  us  be  fix'd,  and  our  own  masters  still. 

'Villicrs  Duke  of  BuckKgham. 


308  IMITATIONS   OF   HORACE. 

THE  FIRST  EPISTLE 
OF  THE 

FIKST   BOOK   OF  HOEACE. 

TO  LORD  BOLING  BROKE. 

ST.  JOHN,  whose  love  indulged  my  labours  past, 
Matures  my  present,  and  shall  bound  my  last ! 
Why  will  you  break  the  Sabbath  of  my  days  ? 
Now  sick  alike  of  envy  and  of  praise. 
Public  too  long,  ah,  let  me  hide  my  age ! 
See  modest  Gibber  now  has  left  the  stage : 
Our  generals  now,  retired  to  their  estates, 
Hang  their  old  trophies  o'er  the  garden  gates, 
In  life's  cool  evening  satiate  of  applause, 
Nor  fond  of  bleeding,  e'en  in  BRUNSWICK'S  cause. 

A  voice  there  is,  that  whispers  in  my  ear, 
(Tis  Reason's  voice,  which  sometimes  one  can  hear) 
"  Friend  Pope !  be  prudent,  let  your  muse  take  breath, 
And  never  gallop  Pegasus  to  death ; 
Lest  stiff  and  stately,  void  of  fire  or  force, 
You  limp,  like  Blackmore,  on  a  lord  mayor's  horse."1 

Farewell  then  verse,  and  love,  and  every  toy, 
The  rhymes  and  rattles  of  the  man  or  boy ; 
What  right,  what  true,  what  fit  we  justly  call, 
Let  this  be  all  my  care — for  this  is  all : 
To  lay  this  harvest  up,  and  hoard  with  haste 
What  every  day  will  want,  and  most,  the  last. 

But  ask  not  to  what  doctors  I  apply ; 
Sworn  to  no  master,  of  no  sect  am  I : 
As  drives  the  storm,  at  any  door  I  knock : 
And  house  with  Montaigne  now,  or  now  with  Locke. 
Sometimes  a  patriot,  active  in  debate, 
Mix  with  the  world,  and  battle  for  the  state, 

1  The  fame  of  this  heavy  poet,  however  problematical  elsewhere,  was 
universally  received  in  the  city  of  London.  His  vers  fication  is  here 
exactly  described:  stiff,  and  not  strong;  stately,  and  yet  dull,  like  the 
sober  and  slow-paced  animal  gen  rally  employed  to  mount  the  lord 
mayor ;  and  therefore  here  humorously  opposed  to  Pegasus. 


IMITATIONS   OF   HORACE.  309 

Free  as  young  Lyttelton,  her  cause  pursue, 
Still  true  to  virtue,  and  as  warm  as  true : 
Sometimes  with  Aristippus,  or  St.  Paul, 
Indulge  my  candour,  and  grow  all  to  all; 
Back  to  my  native  moderation  slide, 
And  win  my  way  by  yielding  to  the  tide. 

Long,  as  to  him  who  works  for  debt,  the  day, 
Long  as  the  night  to  her  whose  love's  away, 
Long  as  the  year's  dull  circle  seems  to  run, 
When  the  brisk  minor  pants  for  twenty-one: 
So  slow  the  unprofitable  moments  roll, 
That  lock  up  all  the  functions  of  my  soul ; 
That  keep  me  from  myself ;  and  still  delay 
Life's  instant  business  to  a  future  day : 
That  task,  which  as  we  follow,  or  despise, 
The  eldest  is  a  fool,  the  youngest  wise, 
Which  done,  the  poorest  can  no  wants  endure ; 
And  which  not  done,  the  richest  must  be  poor. 

Late  as  it  is,  I  put  myself  to  school, 
And  feel  some  comfort  not  to  be  a  fool. 
Weak  though  I  am  of  limb,  and  short  of  sight, 
Far  from  a  lynx,  and  not  a  giant  quite ; 
I'll  do  what  Mead  and  Cheselden  advise, 
To  keep  these  limbs,  and  to  preserve  these  eyes. 
Not  to  go  back,  is  somewhat  to  advance, 
'And  men  must  walk  at  least  before  they  dance. 

Say,  does  thy  blood  rebel,  thy  bosom  move 
With  wretched  avarice,  or  as  wretched  love? 
Know,  there  are  words,  and  spells,  which  can  control 
Between  the  fits  this  fever  of  the  soul  ; 
Know,  there  are  rhymes  which,  fresh  and  fresh  applied. 
Will  cure  the  arrant'st  puppy  of  his  pride. 
Be  furious,  envious,  slothful,  mad,  or  drunk, 
Slave  to  a  wife,  or  vassal  to  a  punk, 
A  Switz,  a  High-Dutch,  or  a  Low-Dutch  bear; 
All  that  we  ask  is  but  a  patient  ear. 

'Tis  the  first  virtue,  vices  to  abhor; 
And  the  first  wisdom,  to  be  fool  no  more. 
But  to  the  world  no  bugbear  is  so  great, 
As  want  of  figure,  and  a  small  estate. 
To  either  India  see  the  merchant  fly, 
Scared  at  the  spectre  of  pale  poverty! 
See  him,  with  pains  of  body,  pangs  of  soul, 
Burn  through  the  tropic,  freeze  beneath  the  pole! 

28 


310  IMITATIONS   OF   HORACE. 

"Wilt  thou  do  nothing  for  a  nobler  end, 
Nothing  to  make  philosophy  thy  friend? 
To  stop  thy  foolish  views,  thy  long  desires, 
And  ease  thy  heart  of  all  that  it  admires? 
Here,  Wisdom  calls:  "  Seek  virtue  first,  be  bold! 
As  gold  to  silver,  virtue  is  to  gold." 
There,  London's  voice:  "  Get  money,  money  still! 
And  then  let  Virtue  follow,  if  she  will." 
This,  this  the  saving  doctrine,  preach'd  to  all, 
From  low  St.  James's  up  to  high  St.  Paul ; 
From  him  whose  quills  stand  quiver'd  at  his  ear, 
To  him  \vho  notches  sticks  at  Westminster. 

Barnard  in  spirit,  sense,  and  truth  abounds; 
"Pray  then,  what  wants  he?"     Fourscore  thousand 
A  pension,  or  such  harness  for  a  slave  [pounds. 

As  Bug  now  has,  and  Dorimant  would  have. 
Barnard,  thou  art  a  cit,  with  all  thy  worth  ; 
But  Bug  and  D  *  1,  their  honours,  and  so  forth. 

Yet  every  child  another  song  will  sing, 
"  Virtue,  brave  boys !  'tis  virtue  makes  a  king." 
True,  conscious  honour  is  to  feel  no  sin, 
He's  arm'd  without  that's  innocent  within ; 
Be  this  thy  screen,  and  this  thy  wall  of  brass ; 
Compared  to  this,  a  minister's  an  ass. 

And  say,  to  which  shall  our  applause  belong, 
This  new  court  jargon,  or  the  good  old  songl 
The  modern  language  of  corrupted  peers, 
Or  what  was  spoke  at  CRECY  and  POICTIERS? 
Who  counsels  best?  who  whispers,  "  Be  but  great, 
With  praise  or  infamy  leave  that  to  fate ; 
Get  place  and  wealth,  if  possible,  with  grace ; 
If  not,  by  any  means  get  wealth  and  place." 
For  what?  to  have  a  box  where  eunuchs  sing, 
And  foremost  in  the  circle  eye  a  king. 
Or  he,  who  bids  thee  face  with  steady  view 
Proud  Fortune,  and  look  shallow  Greatness  throug? 
And,  while  he  bids  thee,  sets  the  example  too  ? 
If  such  a  doctrine,  in  St.  James's  air, 
Should  chance  to  make  the  well-drest  rabble  stare; 
If  honest  Schutz  take  scandal  at  a  spark, 
That  less  admires  the  palace  than  the  park : 
Faith  I  shall  give  the  answer  reynard  gave : 
"  I  cannot  like,  dread  sir,  your  royal  cave: 
Because  I  see,  by  all  the  tracks  about, 
Full  many  a  beast  goes  in,  but  none  come  out." 


IMITATIONS   OF  HORACE.  311 

Adieu  to  virtue,  if  you're  once  a  slave : 
Send  her  to  court,  you  send  her  to  her  grave. 

Well,  if  a  king's  a  lion,  at  the  least 
The  people  are  a  many-headed  beast : 
Can  they  direct  what  measures  to  pursue, 
Who  know  themselves  so  little  what  to  do  ? 
Alike  in  nothing  but  one  lust  of  gold, 
Just  half  the  land  would  buy,  and  half  be  sold : 
Their  country's  wealth  our  mightier  misers  drain, 
Or  cross,  to  plunder  provinces,  the  main ; 
The  rest,  some  farm  the  poor-box,  some  the  pews ; 
Some  keep  assemblies,  and  would  keep  the  stews; 
Some  with  fat  bucks  on  childless  dotards  fawn; 
Some  win  rich  widows  by  their  chine  and  brawn; 
While  with  the  silent  growth  of  ten  per  cent., 
In  dirt  and  darkness,  hundreds  stink  content. 

Of  all  these  ways,  if  each  pursues  his  own, 
Satire,  be  kind,  and  let  the  wretch  alone: 
But  show  me  one  who  has  it  in  his  power 
To  act  consistent  with  himself  an  hour. 
Sir  Job  sail'd  forth,  the  evening  bright  and  still, 
"  No  place  on  earth  (he  cried)  like  Greenwich-hill  i" 
Up  starts  a  palace :  lo !  the  obedient  base 
Slopes  at  its  foot,  the  woods  its  sides  embrace, 
The  silver  Thames  reflects  its  marble  face. 
Now  let  some  whimsey,  or  that  devil  within 
Which  guides  all  those  who  know  not  what  they  mean, 
But  give  the  knight  (or  give  his  lady)  spleen ; 
"  Away,  away !  take  all  your  scaffolds  down, 
For  snug's  the  word :  my  dear  !  we'll  live  in  town." 

At  amorous  Flavio  is  the  stocking  thrown  1 — 
That  very  night  he  longs  to  lie  alone. 
The  fool,  whose  wife  elopes  some  thri< 
For  matrimonial  solace  dies  a  martyr. 
Did  ever  Proteus,  Merlin,  any  witch, 
Transform  themselves  so  strangely  as  the  rich  ! — 
Well,  but  the  poor — the  poor  have  the  same  itch  ! 
They  change  their  weekly  barber,  weekly  news, 
Prefer  a  new  japanner  to  their  shoes, 
Discharge  their  garrets,  move  their  beds,  and  run 
(They  know  not  whither)  in  a  chaise  and  one; 
They  hire  their  sculler,  and  when  once  aboard, 
Grow  sick — and  damn  the  climate — like  a  lord. 

You  laugh,  half  beau,  half  sloven  if  I  stand, 
My  wig  all  powder,  and  all  snuff  my  band ; 


312  IMITATIONS    OF    IIOKACE. 

You  laugh,  if  coat  and  breeches  strangely  vary, 

White  gloves,  and  linen  worthy  Lady  Mary ! 

But  when  no  prelate's  lawn,  with  hair-shirt  lined, 

Is  half  so  incoherent  as  my  mind, 

When  (each  opinion  with  the  next  at  strife, 

One  ebb  and  now  of  follies  all  my  life) 

I  plant,  root  up ;  I  build,  and  then  confound ; 

Turn  round  to  square,  and  square  again  to  round  j 

You  never  change  one  muscle  of  your  face, 

You  think  this  madness  but  a  common  case; 

Nor  once  to  Chancery,  nor  to  Hale  apply ; 

Yet  hang  your  lip,  to  see  a  seam  awry ! 

Careless  how  ill  I  with  myself  agree, 

Kind  to  my  dress,  my  figure, — not  to  me. 

Is  this  my  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend  1 

This  he,  who  loves  me,  and  who  ought  to  mend  ? 

Who  ought  to  make  me  (what  he  can  or  none) 

That  man  divine  whom  wisdom  calls  her  own ; 

Great  without  title,  without  fortune  bless'd ; 

Rich  e'en  when  plunder'd,  honour'd  while  oppress'd; 

Loved  without  youth,  and  follow'd  without  power ; 

At  home,  though  exiled;  free,  though  in  the  Tower; 

In  short,  that  reasoning,  high,  immortal  thing, 

Just  less  than  Jove,  and  much  above  a  king, 

Nay,  half  in  heaven — except  (what's  mighty  odd) 

A  fit  of  vapours  clouds  this  demi-god. 


THE  SIXTH  EPISTLE 
OF  THE 

FIEST  BOOK  OF  HORACE. 

TO  MR.  MURRAY, 

AFTERWARDS  EARL  OF  MANSFIELD. 

"  NOT  to  admire,  is  all  the  art  I  know, 

To  make  men  happy,  and  to  keep  them  so." 

(Plain  truth,  dear  MURRAY,  needs  no  flowers  of  speed 

So  take  it  in  the  very  words  of  Creech.) 

This  vault  of  air,  this  congregated  ball, 
Self-centred  sun,  and  stars  that  rise  and  fall, 


IMITATIONS  OP  HORACE.  313 

There  are,  my  friend !  whose  philosophic  eyes 
Look  through,  and  trust  the  ruler  with  his  skies, 
To  him  commit  the  hour,  the  day,  the  year, 
And  view  this  dreadful  all — without  a  fear. 
Admire  we  then  what  earth's  low  entrails  hold, 
Arabian  shores,  or  Indian  seas  infold ; 
All  the  mad  trade  of  fools  and  slaves  for  gold  ? 
Or  popularity  ?  or  stars  and  strings  ? 
The  mob's  applauses,  or  the  gifts  of  kings  ? 
Say  with  what  eyes  we  ought  at  courts  to  gaze, 
And  pay  the  great  our  homage  of  amaze  1 

If  weak  the  pleasure  that  from  these  can  spring, 
The  fear  to  want  them  is  as  weak  a  thing : 
Whether  we  dread,  or  whether  we  desire, 
In  either  case,  believe  me,  we  admire ; 
Whether  we  joy  or  grieve,  the  same  the  curse, 
Surprised  at  better,  or  surprised  at  worse. 
Thus  good  or  bad,  to  one  extreme  betray 
The  unbalanced  mind,  and  snatch  the  man  away; 
For  virtue's  self  may  too  much  zeal  be  had ; 
The  worst  of  madmen  is  a  saint  run  mad. 

Go  then,  and  if  you  can,  admire  the  state 
Of  beaming  diamonds,  and  reflected  plate ; 
Procure  a  TASTE  to  double  the  surprise, 
And  gaze  on  Parian  charms  with  learned  eyes: 
Be  struck  with  bright  brocade,  or  Tyrian  dye, 
Our  birth-day  nobles'  splendid  livery. 
If  not  so  pleased,  at  council-board  rejoice, 
To  see  their  judgments  hang  upon  thy  voice; 
From  morn  to  night,  at  senate,  rolls,  and  hall, 
Plead  much,  read  more,  dine  late,  or  not  at  all. 
But  wherefore  all  this  labour,  all  this  strife  1 
For  fame,  for  riches,  for  a  noble  wife  ? 
Shall  one  whom  nature,  learning,  birth,  conspired 
To  form,  not  to  admire,  but  be  admired, 
Sigh,  while  his  Chloe,  blind  to  wit  and  worth, 
Weds  the  rich  dulness  of  some  son  of  earth  ? 
Yet  time  ennobles,  or  degrades  each  line; 
It  brighten'd  CRAGGS'S,  and  may  darken  thine: 
And  what  is  fame  ?  the  meanest  have  their  day, 
The  greatest  can  but  blaze,  and  pass  away. 
Graced  as  thou.  art,  with  all  the  power  of  words, 
So  known,  so  honour'd,  at  the  house  of  lords : 
Conspicuous  scene  !  another  yet  is  nigh, 
(More  silent  far)  where  kings  and  poets  lie ; 
28* 


314  IMITATIONS    OF   HORACE. 

Where  MURRAY  (long  enough  his  country's  pride) 
Shall  be  no  more  than  TULLY,  or  than  HYDE  ! 

Rack'd  with  sciatics,  martyr'd  with  the  stone, 
Will  any  mortal  let  himself  alone  ? 
See  Ward  by  batter'd  beaus  invited  over, 
And  desperate  misery  lays  hold  on  Dover. 
The  case  is  easier  in  the  mind's  disease ; 
There  all  men  may  be  cured,  whene'er  they  please. 
Would  ye  be  blest  ?  despise  low  joys,  low  gains; 
Disdain  whatever  CORXBURY  disdains ; 
Be  virtuous,  and  be  happy  for  your  pains. 

But  art  thou  one,  whom  new  opinions  sway, 
One  who  believes  as  Tindal  leads  the  way, 
Who  virtue  and  a  church  alike  disowns, 
Thinks  lhat  but  words,  and  this  but  brick  and  stones  ? 
Fly  then,  on  all  the  wings  of  wild  desire, 
Admire  whate'er  the  maddest  can  admire. 
Is  wealth  thy  passion  ?  hence  !  from  pole  to  pole, 
Where  winds  can  carry,  or  where  waves  can  roll, 
For  Indian  spices,  for  Peruvian  gold, 
Prevent  the  greedy,  and  outbid  the  bold : 
Advance  thy  golden  mountain  to  the  skies ; 
On  the  broad  base  of  fifty  thousand  rise, 
Add  one  round  hundred,  and  (if  that's  not  fair) 
Add  fifty  more,  and  bring  it  to  a  square. 
For,  mark  the  advantage ;  just  so  many  score 
Will  gain  a  wife  with  half  as  many  more, 
Procure  her  beauty,  make  that  beauty  chaste, 
And  then  such  friends — as  cannot  fail  to  last. 
A  man  of  wealth  is  dubb'd  a  man  of  worth, 
Venus  shall  give  him  form,  and  Anstis  birth. 
(Believe  me,  many  a  German  prince  is  worse, 
Who  proud  of  pedigree,  is  poor  of  purse.) 
His  wealth  brave  Tim  on  gloriously  confounds ; 
Ask'd  for  a  groat,  he  gives  a  hundred  pounds; 
Or  if  three  ladies  like  a  luckless  play, 
Takes  the  whole  house  upon  the  poet's  day. 
Now,  in  such  exigencies  not  to  need, 
Upon  my  word  you  must  be  rich  indeed ; 
A  noble  superfluity  it  craves, 
Not  for  yourself,  but  for  your  fools  and  knaves ; 
Something,  which  for  your  honour  they  may  cheat, 
And  which  it  much  becomes  you  to  forget. 
If  wealth  alone  then  make  and  keep  us  blest, 
Still,  still  be  getting ;  never,  never  rest. 


IMITATIONS   OF  HORACE.  315 

But  if  to  power  and  place  your  passion  lie, 
If  in  the  pomp  of  li'fe  consist  the  joy ; 
Then  hire  a  slave,  or  (if  you  will)  a  lord, 
To  do  the  honours,  and  to  give  the  word ; 
Tell  at  your  levee,  as  the  crowds  approach, 
To  whom  to  nod,  whom  take  into  your  coach, 
Whom  honour  with  your  hand:  to  make  remarks, 
Who  rules  in  Cornwall,  or  who  rules  in  Berks: 
"  This  may  be  troublesome,  is  near  the  chair; 
That  makes  three  members,  this  can  choose  a  mayor." 
Instructed  thus,  you  bow,  embrace,  protest, 
Adopt  him  son,  or  cousin  at  the  least, 
Then  turn  about,  and  laugh  at  your  own  jest. 

Or  if  your  life  be  one  continued  treat, 
If  to  live  well  means  nothing  but  to  eat ; 
Up,  up  !  cries  Gluttony,  'tis  break  of  day, 
Go  drive  the  deer,  and  drag  the  finny  prey ; 
With  hounds  and  horns  go  hunt  an  appetite — 
So  Russel  did,  but  could  not  eat  at  night, 
Call'd  happy  dog  !  the  beggar  at  his  door, 
And  envied  thirst  and  hunger  to  the  poor. 

Or  shall  we  every  decency  confound, 
Through  taverns,  stews,  and  bagnios  take  our  round  ? 
Go  dine  with  Chartres,  in  each  vice  outdo 
K — 1's  lewd  cargo,  or  Ty — y's  crew, 
From  Latian  syrens,  French  Circsean  feasts, 
Return  well  travell'd,  and  transform'd  to  beasts, 
Or  for  a  titled  punk,  or  foreign  flame, 
Renounce  our  country,  and  degrade  our  name  ? 

If,  after  all,  we  must  with  AVilmot  own, 
The  cordial  drop  of  life  is  love  alune ; 
And  SWIFT  cry  wisely,  "  Vive  la  bagatelle !" 
The  man  that  loves  and  laughs,  must  sure  do  welL 
Adieu — if  this  advice  appear  the  worst, 
Even  take  the  counsel  which  I  gave  you  first: 
Or  better  precepts  if  you  can  impart, 
Why  do;  I'll  follow  them  with  all  my  heart. 


316  IMITATIONS   OF   IIOnACE. 


TIIE  FIRST  EPISTLE 

OF  THE 

SECOND  BOOK  OF  HOEA.CE. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

THE  reflections  of  Horace,  and  the  judgments  passed  in  his  epistle  to 
Augustus,  seemed  so  seasonable  to  the  present  time,  that  I  could  not 
help  applying  them  to  the  use  of  my  own  country.  The  author  thought 
them  considerable  enough  to  address  them  to  his  prince,  whom  he  paints 
with  all  the  great  and  good  qualities  of  a  monarch  upon  whom  the 
Romans  depended  for  the  increase  of  an  absolute  empire.  But  to  make 
the  poem  entirely  English,  I  was  willing  to  add  one  or  two  of  those 
which  contribute  to  the  happiness  of  a  free  people,  and  are  more  con- 
sistent with  the  welfare  of  our  neighbour!. 

This  epistle  will  show  the  learned  world  to  have  fallen  into  two  mis- 
takes: one,  that  Auguatta  was  a  patron  of  poets  in  general:  whereas  he 
not  only  prohibited  all  but  the  best  writers  to  name  him,  but  recom- 
mended that  care  even  to  the  civil  magistrate :  Admonebal  pro-tores,  ne 
paterentur  nomen  suum  obsolefieri,  &c.  The  other,  that  this  piece  was 
only  a.  general  discourie  of  poetry:  whereas  it  was  an  apology  for  the  poets, 
in  order  to  render  Augustus  more  their  patron.  Horace  here  pleads  the 
cause  of  his  contemporaries,  first,  against  the  taste  of  the  town,  whose 
humour  it  was  to  magnify  the  authors  of  the  preceding  age;  secondly, 
against  the  court  and  nobility,  who  encouraged  only  the  writers  for  the 
theatre ;  and,  lastly,  against  the  emperor  himself,  who  had  conceived  them 
of  little  use  to  the  government.  He  shows  (by  a  view  of  the  progress  of 
learning,  and  the  change  of  taste  among  the  Romans)  that  the  intro- 
duction of  the  polite  arts  of  Greece  had  given  the  writers  of  his  time 
great  advantages  over  their  predecessors ;  that  their  moralt  were  much 
improved,  and  the  licence  of  those  ancient  poets  restrained  ;  that  satire 
and  comedy  were  become  more  just  and  useful;  that  whatever  extrava- 
gancies were  left  on  the  stage  were  owing  to  the  ill  taste  of  the  nobility: 
that  poets,  under  due  regulations,  were  in  many  respects  useful  to  the 
state:  and  concludes  that  it  was  upon  them  the  emperor  himself  must 
depend  for  his  fame  with  posterity. 

We  may  further  learn  from  this  epistle,  that  Horace  made  his  court 
to  this  great  prince  by  writing  with  a  decent  frecdt  m  toward  him,  with 
a  just  contempt  of  his  low  flatterers,  and  with  a  manly  regard  to  his  own 
character. 


IMITATIONS   OF   HORACE.  317 

EPISTLE  I. 
TO    AUGUSTUS. 

WHILE  you,  great  patron  of  mankind !  sustain 
The  balanced  world,  and  open  all -the  main; 
Your  country,  chief,  in  arms  abroad  defend, 
At  home,  with  morals,  arts,  and  laws  amend ; 
How  shall  the  muse,  from  such  a  monarch,  steal 
An  hour,  and  not  defraud  the  public  weal  ? 

Edward  and  Henry,  now  the  boast  of  Fame, 
And  virtuous  Alfred,  a  more  sacred  name, 
After  a  life  of  generous  toils  endured, 
The  Gaul  subdued,  or  property  secured, 
Ambition  humbled,  mighty  cities  storm'd, 
Or  laws  establish'd,  and  the  world  reform'd ; 
Closed  their  long  glories,  with  a  sigh,  to  find 
The  unwilling  gratitude  of  base  mankind ! 
All  human  virtue,  to  its  latest  breath, 
Finds  Envy  never  conquer'd,  but  by  Death. 
The  great  Alcides,  every  labour  past, 
Had  still  this  monster  to  subdue  at  last. 
Sure  fate  of  all,  beneath  whose  rising  ray 
Each  star  of  meaner  merit  fades  away! 
Oppress'd  we  feel  the  beam  directly  beat, 
Those  suns  of  glory  please  not  till  they  set. 

To  thee,  the  world  its  present  homage  pays, 
The  harvest  early,  but  mature  the  praise : 
Great  friend  of  LIBERTY  !  in  kings  a  name 
Above  all  Greek,  above  all  Roman  fame : 
Whose  word  is  truth,  as  sacred  and  revered, 
As  Heaven's  own  oracles  from  altars  heard. 
Wonder  of  kings !  like  whom,  to  mortal  eyea 
None  e'er  has  risen,  and  none  e'er  shall  rise. 

Just  in  one  instance,  be  it  yet  confess'd 
Your  people,  Sir,  are  partial  in  the  rest: 
Foes  to  all  living  worth  except  your  own, 
And  advocates  for  folly  dead  and  gone. 
Authors,  like  coins,  grow  dear  as  they  grow  old; 
It  is  the  rust  we  value,  not  the  gold. 
Chaucer's  worst  ribaldry  is  learned  by  rote, 
And  beastly  Skelton1  heads  of  houses*  quote : 

1  Skelton,  post  lanreat  to  Henry  VIII.,  a  volume  of  whose  verses  had 
been  reprinted,  consisting  almost  wholly  of  ribaldry,  and  obscenity. 


318  IMITATIONS    OF    HORACE. 

One  likes  no  language  but  the  Faery  Queene; 
A  Scot  will  fight  for  Christ's  Kirk  o'  the  Green;1 
And  each  true  Briton  is  to  Ben  so  civil, 
He  swears  the  Muses  met  him  at  the  Devil.2 

Why  should  not  we  be  wiser  than  our  sires? 
In  every  public  virtue  we  excel ; 
We  build,  we  paint,  we  sing,  we  dance  as  well, 
And  learned  Athens  to  our  art  must  stoop, 
Could  she  behold  us  tumbling  through  a  hoop. 

If  time  improve  our  wit  as  well  as  wine, 
Say  at  what  age  a  poet  grows  divine  1 
Shall  we,  or  shall  we  not,  account  him  so, 
Who  died,  perhaps,  a  hundred  years  ago? 
End  all  dispute ;  and  fix  the  year  precise 
When  British  bards  began  to  immortalise? 

"  Who  lasts  a  century  can  have  no  flaw, 
I  hold  that  wit  a  classic,  good  in  law." 

Suppose  he  wants  a  year,  will  you  compound? 
And  shall  we  deem  him  ancient,  right,  and  sound, 
Or  damn  to  all  eternity  at  once, 
At  ninety-nine,  a  modern  and  a  dunce? 

"  We  shall  not  quarrel  for  a  year  or  two  r 
By  courtesy  of  England,  he  may  do." 

Then,  by  the  rule  that  made  the  horse-tail  bare, 
I  pluck  out  year  by  year,  as  hair  by  hair, 
And  melt  down  ancients  like  a  heap  of  snow: 
While  you,  to  measure  merits,  look  in  Stowe, 
And  estimating  authors  by  the  year, 
Bestow  a  garland  only  on  a  bier. 

Shakspeare,  (whom  you  and  every  playhouse  bill 
Style  the  divine,  the  matchless,  what  you  will) 
For  gain,  not  glory,  wing'd  his  roving  flight, 
And  grew  immortal  in  his  own  despite. 
Ben,  old  and  poor,  as  little  seem'd  to  heed 
The  life  to  come,  in  every  poet's  creed. 
Who  now  reads  Cowley  1  if  he  pleases  yet, 
His  moral  pleases,  not  his  pointed  wit : 
Forgot  his  epic,  nay  Pindaric  art, 
But  still  I  love  the  language  of  his  heai-t. 

"Yet  surely,  surely,  these  were  famous  men! 
What  boy  but  hears  the  sayings  of  old  Ben? 

1  A  poem  by  James  I.,  king  of  Scotland. 

2  The  Devil  Tavern,  where  Ben  Jonson  held  his  Poetical  Club. 


IMITATIONS   OF   HORACE.  319 

In  all  debates  where  critics  bear  a  part, 

Not  one  but  nods,  and  talks  of  Jonson's  art, 

Of  Shakspeare's  nature,  and  of  Cowley's  wit; 

How  Beaumont's  judgment  check'd  what  Fletcher  writ. 

How  Shadwell  hasty,  Wycherley  was  slow ; 

But,  for  the  passions,  Southern,  sure,  and  Rowe. 

These,  only  these,  support  the  crowded  stage, 

From  eldest  Heywood  down  to  Gibber's  age." 

All  this  may  be ;  the  people's  voice  is  odd, 
It  is,  and  it  is  not,  the  voice  of  God. 
To  Gammer  Gurton1  if  it  give  the  bays, 
And  yet  deny  the  Careless  Husband  praise, 
Or  say  our  fathers  never  broke  a  rule; 
Why  then,  I  say,  the  public  is  a  fool. 
But  let  them  own,  that  greater  faults  than  we 
They  had,  and  greater  virtues,  I'll  agree. 
Spenser  himself  affects  the  obsolete, 
And  Sidney's  verse  halts  ill  on  Roman  feet: 
Milton's  strong  pinion  now  not  heaven  can  bound, 
Now  serpent-like,  in  prose  he  sweeps  the  ground, 
In  quibbles,  angel  and  archangel  join, 
And  God  the  Father  turns  a  school-divine. 
Not  that  I'd  lop  the  beauties  from  his  book, 
Like  slashing  Bentloy  with  his  desperate  hook, 
Or  damn  all  Shakspeare.  like  the  affected  fool 
At  court,  who  hates  whate'er  he  read  at  school. 

But  for  the  wits  of  either  Charles's  days, 
The  mob  of  gentlemen  who  wrote  with  ease ; 
Sprat,  Carew,  Sedley,  and  a  hundred  more, 
(Like  twinkling  stars  the  miscellanies  o'er) 
One  simile,  that  solitary  shines 
In  the  dry  desert  of  a  thousand  lines, 
Or  lengthen'd  thought  that  gleams  through  many  a  page, 
Has  sanctified  whole  poems  for  ai/age. 
I  lose  my  patience,  and  I  own  it  too, 
When  works  are  censured,  not  as  bad  but  new; 
While  if  our  elders  break  all  reason's  laws, 
These  fools  demand  not  pardon,  but  applause. 

On  Avon's  bank,  where  flowers  eternal  blow, 
If  I  but  ask,  if  any  weed  can  grow? 
One  tragic  sentence  if  I  dare  deride 
Which  Betterton's  grave  action  dignified, 

'A  piece  of  very  low  humour;  one  of  the  first  printed  pl» 
English,  and  therefore  much  valued  by  some  anliijuaries. 


320  IMITATIONS   OP   II011ACE. 

Or  well-mouth'd  Booth  with  emphasis  proclaims, 
(Though  but,  perhaps,  a  muster-roll  of  names) 
How  will  our  fathers  rise  up  in  a  rage, 
And  swear  all  shame  is  lost  in  George's  age ! 
You'd  think  no  fools  disgraced  the  former  reign, 
Did  not  some  grave  examples  yet  remain, 
Who  scorn  a  lad  should  teach  his  father  skill, 
And,  having  once  been  wrong,  will  be  so  still. 
He,  who  to  seem  more  deep  than  you  or  I, 
Extols  old  bards,  or  Merlin's  prophecy, 
Mistake  him  not ;  he  envies,  not  admires, 
And  to  debase  the  sons,  exalts  the  sires. 
Had  ancient  times  conspired  to  disallow 
What  then  was  new,  what  had  been  ancient  now? 
Or  what  remain'd,  so  worthy  to  be  read 
By  learned  critics,  of  the  mighty  dead  ? 

In  days  of  ease,  when  now  the  weary  sword 
Was  sheathed,  and  luxury  with  Charles  restored ; 
In  every  taste  of  foreign  courts  improved, 
"All,  by  the  king's  example,  lived  and  loved." 
Then  peers  grew  proud  in  horsemanship  to  excel,1 
Newmarket's  glory  rose,  as  Britain's  fell ; 
The  soldier  breathed  the  gallantries  of  France, 
And  every  flowery  courtier  writ  romance. 
Then  marble,  soften'd  into  life,  grew  warm, 
And  yielding  metal  flow'd  to  human  form : 
Lely  on  animated  canvas  stole 
The  sleepy  eye,  that  spoke  the  melting  soul. 
No  wonder  then,  when  all  was  love  and  sport, 
The  willing  muses  were  debauch 'd  at  court: 
On  each  enervate  string  they  taught  the  note* 
To  pant,  or  tremble  through  a  eunuch's  throat. 

But  Britain,  changeful  as  a  child  at  play, 
Now  calls  in  prince^  and  now  turns  away. 
Now  Whig,  now  Tory,  what  we  loved  we  hate ; 
Now  all  for  pleasure,  now  for  church  and  state ; 
Now  for  prerogative,  and  now  for  laws ; 
Effects  unhappy!  from  a  noble  cause. 


1  The  Duke  of  Newcastle's  book  of  Horsemanship;  the  romance  of 
fartfiem'ssa,  by  the  Earl  of  Orrery ;  and  most  of  the  French  romances 
translated  by  persons  of  quality. 

2  The  siege  of  llhodes,  by  Sir  William  Davenant,  the  first  opera  sung 
in  England. 


IMITATIONS   OF   HORACE.  321 

Time  was,  a  sober  Englishman  would  knock 
His  servants  up,  and  rise  by  five  o'clock 
Instruct  his  family  in  every  rule, 
And  send  his  wife  to  church,  his  son  to  school. 
lo  worship  like  his  fathers,  was  his  care; 
To  teach  their  frugal  virtues  to  his  heir;' 
To  prove,  that  luxury  could  never  hold; 
And  place,  on  good  security,  his  gold. 
Now  times  are  changed,  and  one  poetic  itch 
Has  seized  the  court  and  city,  poor  and  rich: 
bons,  sires,  and  grandsires,  all  will  wear  the  bays. 
Our  wives  read  Milton,  and  our  daughters  plays, 
To  theatres,  and  to  rehearsals  thronS          P   ^ 
And  all  our  grace  at  table  is  a  song. 
I,  who  so  oft  renounce  the  Muses'  lie 
Not  -  's  self  e'er  tells  more  fibs  than  I  • 
When  sick  of  Muse,  or  follies  we  deplore 
And  promise  our  best  friends  to  rhyme  no  more: 
We  wake  next  morning  in  a  raging  fit 
And  call  for  pen  and  ink  to  show  our  wit. 

He  served  a  'prenticeship,  who  sets  up  shop  • 
Ward"  tried  on  puppies,  and  the  poor,  his  drop'; 
.t  -en  Kadchffe's  doctors  travel  first  to  France 
SST  te?  P^j86  tm  they've  learn'd  to  dance. 
V\  no  builds  a  bridge,  that  never  drove  a  pile? 
(Should  Eipley  venture,  all  the  world  would  smile) 
.But  those  who  cannot  write,  and  those  who  can 
All  rhyme,  and  scrawl,  and  scribble,  to  a  man 

Yet,  sir,  reflect  :  the  mischief  is  not  great; 
These  madmen  never  hurt  the  church  or  state: 
Sometimes  the  folly  benefits  mankind  : 
And  rarely  avarice  taints  the  tuneful  mind. 
Allow  him  but  his  plaything  of  a  pen, 
He  ne'er  rebels,  or  plots,  like  other  men: 
Flight  of  cashiers,  or  mobs,  he'll  never  mind- 
And  knows  no  losses  while  the  Muse  is  kind. 
To  cheat  a  friend,  or  ward,  he  leaves  to  Peter; 
The  good  man  heaps  up  nothing  but  mere  metre 
.knjoys  his  garden  and  his  book  in  quiet; 
And  then  —  a  perfect  hermit  in  his  diet. 

A  famous  empiric,  whose  pill  and  drop  had  several  surprisi 

one  of  the  principal  subjecta  of  writin  «« 


bjecta  of 

29 


322  IMITATIONS    OF   UORACE. 

Of  little  use  the  man  you  may  suppose, 
"Who  says  in  verse  what  others  say  in  prose; 
Yet  let  me  show,  a  poet's  of  some  weight, 
And  (though  no  soldier)  useful  to  the  state. 
What  will  a  child  learn  sooner  than  a  song  ? 
What  better  teach  a  foreigner  the  tongue  ? 
What's  long  or  short,  each  accent  where  to  place, 
And  speak  in  public  with  some  sort  of  grace, 
I  scarce  can  think  him  such  a  worthless  thing, 
Unless  he  praise  some  monster- of  a  king; 
Or  virtue,  or  religion  turn  to  sport, 
To  please  a  lewd,  or  unbelieving  court. 

Unhappy  Dryden ! In  all  Charles's  days, 

Roscommon  only  boasts  unspotted  bays ; 

And  in  our  own  (excuse  some  courtly  stains) 

No  whiter  page  than  AddisonV  remains. 

He,  from  the  taste  obscene  reclaims  our  youth, 

And  sets  the  passions  on  the  side  of  truth  ; 

Forms  the  soft  bosom  with  the  gentlest  art, 

And  pours  each  human  virtue  in  the  heart. 

Let  Ireland  tell,  how  wit  upheld  her  cause, 

Her  trade  supported,  and  supplied  her  laws ; 

And  leave  on  SWIFT  this  grateful  verse  engraved, 

"  The  rights  a  court  attack'd,  a  poet  saved." 

Behold  the  hand  that  wrought  a  nation's  cure, 

Stretch'd  to  relieve  the  idiot  and  the  poor,1 

Proud  vice  to  brand,  or  injured  worth  adorn, 

And  stretch  the  ray  to  ages  yet  unborn. 

Not  but  there  are,  who  merit  other  palms ; 

Hopkins  and  Sternhold  glad  the  heart  with  psalms: 

The  boys  and  girls  whom  charity  maintains, 

Implore  your  help  in  these  pathetic  strains : 

How  could  devotion  touch  the  country  pews, 

Unless  the  gods  bestow'd  a  proper  muse  ? 

Verse  cheers  their  leisure,  verse  assists  their  work, 

Verse  prays  for  peace,  or  sings  down  Pope  and  Turk. 

The  silenced  preacher  yields  to  potent  strain, 

And  feels  that  grace  his  prayer  besought  in  vain ; 

The  blessing  thrills  through  all  the  labouring  throng, 

And  Heaven  is  won  by  violence  of  song. 

Our  rural  ancestors,  with  little  blest, 
Patient  of  labour  when  the  end  was  rest, 

1  A  foundation  for  the  maintenance  of  idiots,  and  a  fund  for  assisting 
the  poor,  by  lending  small  sums  of  money  on  demand. 


IMITATIONS   OF   HORACE.  323 

Indulged  the  day  that  housed  their  annual  grain, 
With  feasts,  and  offerings,  and  a  thankful  strain : 
The  joy  their  wives,  their  sons,  and  servants  share, 
Ease  of  their  toil,  and  partners  of  their  care: 
The  laugh,  the  jest,  attendants  on  the  bowl, 
Smoothed  every  brow,  and  open'd  every  soul : 
With  growing  years  the  pleasing  licence  grew, 
And  taunts  alternate  innocently  flew. 
But  times  corrupt,  and  Nature,  ill-inclined, 
Produced  the  point  that  left  a  sting  behind ; 
Till  friend  with  friend,  and  families  at  strife, 
Triumphant  malice  raged  through  private  life. 
Who  felt  the  wrong,  or  fear'd  it,  took  the  alarm, 
Appeal'd  to  law,  and  justice  lent  her  arm. 
At  length,  by  wholesome  dread  of  statutes  bound, 
The  poets  learn'd  to  please,  and  not  to  wound: 
Most  warp'd  to  flattery's  side ;  but  some,  more  nice, 
Preserved  the  freedom,  and  forbore  the  vice. 
Hence  satire  rose,  that  just  the  medium  hit, 
And  heals  with  morals  what  it  hurts  with  wit. 
We  conquer'd  France,  but  felt  our  captive's  charms ; 
Her  arts  victorious  triumph'd  o'er  our  arms ; 
Britain  to  soft  refinements  less  a  foe, 
Wit  grew  polite,  and  numbers  learn'd  to  flow. 
Waller  was  smooth ;'  but  Dryden  taught  to  join 
The  varying  verse,  the  full  resounding  line, 
The  long  majestic  march,  and  energy  divine. 
Though  still  some  traces  of  our  rustic  vein, 
And  splay-foot  verse,  remain'd,  and  will  remain. 
Late,  very  late,  correctness  grew  our  care, 
When  the  tired  nation  breathed  from  civil  war. 
Exact  Racine,  and  Corneille's  noble  fire, 
Show'd  us  that  France  had  something  to  admire. 
Not  but  the  tragic  spirit  was  our  own, 
And  full  in  Shakspeare,  fair  in  Otway  shone: 
But  Otway  fail'd  to  polish  or  refine, 
And  fluent  Shakspeare  scarce  effaced  a  line. 
Even  copious  Dryden  wanted,  or  forgot, 
The  last  and  greatest  art,  the  art  to  blot. 
Some  doubt,  if  equal  pains,  or  equal  fire 
The  humble  muse  of  comedy  require. 

i  Mr.  Waller,  about  this  time,  with  the  Earl  of  Dorset,  Mr.  Godolphln, 
and  others,  translated  the  Pompoy  of  Corneille,  and  the  more  correct 
French  poets  began  to  be  iii  reputation. 


324  IMITATIONS   OF   HORACE. 

But  in  known  images  of  life,  I  guess 
The  labour  greater,  as  the  indulgence  less. 
Observe  how  seldom  even  the  best  succeed: 
Tell  me  if  Congreve's  fools  are  fools  indeed  ? 
What  pert,  low  dialogue  has  Farquhar  writ! 
How  Van1  wants  grace,  who  never  wanted  wit! 
The  stage  how  loosely  does  Astrea2  tread, 
Who  fairly  puts  all  characters  to  bed  ! 
And  idle  Cibber,  how  he  breaks  the  laws, 
To  make  poor  Pinky  eat  with  vast  applause ! 
But  fill  their  purse,  our  poets'  work  is  done, 
Alike  to  them,  by  pathos  or  by  pun. 

O  you !  whom  vanity's  light  bark  conveys 
On  Fame's  mad  voyage  by  the  wind  of  praise, 
With  what  a  shifting  gale  your  course  you  ply, 
For  ever  sunk  too  low,  or  borne  too  high  ! 
Who  pants  for  glory  finds  but  short  repose, 
A  breath  revives  him,  or  a  breath  o'erthrows. 
Farewell  the  stage  !  if  just  as  thrives  the  play, 
The  silly  bard  grows  fat,  or  falls  away. 

There  still  remains,  to  mortify  a  wit, 
The  many-headed  monster  of  the  pit 
A  senseless,  worthless,  and  unhonour'd  crowd ; 
Who,  to  disturb  their  betters  mighty  proud, 
Clattering  their  sticks  before  ten  lines  are  spoke, 
Call  for  the  farce,  the  Bear,  or  the  Black-joke. 
What  dear  delight  to  Britons  farce  affords  ! 
Ever  the  taste  of  mobs,  but  now  of  lords : 
(Taste,  that  eternal  wanderer,  which  flies 
From  heads  to  ears,  and  now  from  ears  to  eyes.) 
The  play  stands  still ;  damn  action  and  discourse ; 
Back  fly  the  scenes,  and  enter  foot  and  horse ; 
Pageants  on  pageants,  in  long  order  drawn, 
Peers,  heralds,  bishops,  ermine,  gold,  and  lawn ; 
The  champion  too  !  and,  to  complete  the  jest, 
Old  Edward's  armour  beams  on  Gibber's  breast.3 
With  laughter  sure  Democritus  had  died, 
Had  he  beheld  an  audience  gape  so  wide. 

1  Sir  John  Vanbrugh. 

2  A  name  taken  by  Mrs,  Behn,  authoress  of  several  obscene  plays. 

3  The  coronation  of  Henry  VIII.  and  Queen  Anne  Bolcyn,  in  which 
the  playhouses  vied  with  each  other  to  represent  all  the  pomp  of  a  coro- 
nation.   In  this  noble  contention  the  armour  of  one  of  the  kings  of 
Kngland  was  borrowed  fiom  the  Tower,  to  dress  the  champion. 


IMITATIONS    OP   HORACE.  325 

Let  bear  or  elephant  be  e'er  so  white, 

The  people,  sure,  the  people  are  the  sight ! 

Ah  luckless  poet !  stretch  thy  luiigs  and  roar, 

That  bear  or  elephant  shall  heed  thee  more; 

While  all  its  throats  the  gallery  extends, 

And  all  the  thunder  of  the  pit  ascends ! 

Loud  as  the  wolves,  on  Orcas'  stormy  steep,1 

Howl  to  the  roarings  of  the  northern  deep ; 

Such  is  the  shout,  the  long-applauding  note, 

At  Quin's  high  plume,  or  Oldneld's  petticoat; 

Or  when  from  court  a  birth-day  suit  bestow'd, 

Sinks  the  lost  actor  in  the  tawdry  load. 

Booth  enters, — hark  !  the  universal  peal ! 

"  But  has  he  spoken  !"— Not  a  syllable. 

"  What  shook  the  stage,  and  made  the  people  stare  f 

Cato's  long  wig,  flower'd  gown,  and  lacquer'd  chair. 

Yet,  lest  you  think  I  rally  more  than  teach, 
Or  praise  malignly  arts  I  cannot  reach, 
Let  me  for  once  presume  to  instruct  the  times, 
To  know  the  poet  from  the  man  of  rhymes : 
'Tis  he,  who  gives  my  breast  a  thousand  pains, 
Can  make  me  feel  each  passion  that  he  feigns ; 
Enrage,  compose,  with  more  than  magic  art ; 
With  pity,  and  with  terror,  tear  my  heart ; 
And  snatch  me,  o'er  the  earth,  or  through  the  air, 
To  Thebes,  to  Athens,  when  he  will,  and  where. 

But  not  this  part  of  the  poetic  state, 
Alone,  deserves  the  favour  of  the  great. 
Think  of  those  authors,  sir,  who  would  rely 
More  on  a  reader's  sense  than  gazer's  eye. 
Or  who  shall  wander  where  the  Muses  sing  ? 
Who  climb  their  mountain,  or  who  taste  their  spring  ? 
How  shall  we  fill  a  library2  with  wit, 
When  Merlin's  Cave:i  is  half-unfinish'd  yet ! 

My  liege !  why  writers  little  claim  your  thought. 
I  guess,  and,  with  their  leave,  will  tell  the  fault ! 
We  poets  are  (upon  a  poet's  word) 
Of  all  mankind,  the  creatures  most  absurd: 

1  The  farthest  northern  promontory  of  Scotland,   opposite  to  the 
Orcades. 

2  The  Palatine  Library,  then  building  by  Augustus. 

3  A  building  in  the  Koyal  Gardens  of  Richmond,  where  was  a  small  but 
choice  collection  of  books. 

29* 


326  IMITATIONS   OF    HORACE. 

The  season,  when  to  come ;  and  when  to  go, 
To  sing,  or  cease  to  sing,  we  never  know ; 
And  if  we  will  recite  nine  hours  in  ten, 
You  lose  your  patience,  just  like  other  men. 
Then  too  we  hurt  ourselves,  when  to  defend 
A  single  verse,  we  quarrel  with  a  friend ; 
Repeat  unask'd;  lament,  the  wit's  too  fine 
For  vulgar  eyes,  and  point  out  every  line. 
But  most,  when  straining  with  too  weak  a  wing, 
We  needs  will  write  epistles  to  the  king ; 
And  from  the  moment  we  oblige  the  town, 
Expect  a  place,  or  pension  from  the  crown ; 
Or  dubb'd  historians  by  express  command, 
To  enrol  your  triumphs  o'er  the  seas  and  land, 
Be  call'd  to  court  to  plan  some  work  divine, 
As  once  for  Louis,  Boileau  and  Racine. 

Yet  think,  great  sir  !  (so  many  virtues  shown) 
Ah  think,  what  poet  best  may  make  them  known  ? 
Or  choose  at  least  some  minister  of  grace, 
Fit  to  bestow  the  laureat's  weighty  place. 

Charles,  to  late  times  to  be  transmitted  fair, 
Assign'd  his  figure  to  Bernini's  care ; 
And  great  Nassau  to  Kneller's  hand  decreed 
To  fix  him  graceful  on  the  bounding  steed ; 
So  well  in  paint  and  stone  they  judged  of  merit : 
But  kings  in  wit  may  want  discerning  spirit. 
The  hero  William,  and  the  martyr  Charles, 
One  knighted  Blackmore,  and  one  pension'd  Quarles  ; 
Which  made  old  Ben  and  surly  Dennis  swear 
"No  lord's  anointed,  but  a  Russian  bear." 

Not  with  such  majesty,  such  bold  relief, 
The  forms  august,  of  king,  or  conquering  chief, 
E'er  swell'd  on  marble ;  as  in  verse  have  shined 
(In  polish 'd  verse)  the  manners  and  the  mind. 
Oh!  could  I  mount  on  the  Maeonian  wing, 
Your  arms,  your  actions,  your  repose  to  sing ! 
What  seas  you  traversed,  and  what  fields  you  fought ! 
Your  country's  peace,  how  oft,  how  dearly  bought ! 
How  barbarous  rage  subsided  at  your  word, 
And  nations  wonder'd  while  they  dropp'd  the  sword  ! 
How,  when  you  nodded,  o'er  the  land  and  deep, 
Peace  stole  her  wing,  and  wrapt  the  world  in  sleep ; 
Till  earth's  extremes  your  mediation  own, 
And  Asia's  tyrants  tremble  at  your  throne — 


IMITATIONS   OF   HORACE.  327 

But  verse,  alas !  your  majesty  disdains ; 
And  I'm  not  used  to  panegyric  strains : 
The  zeal  of  fools  offends  at  any  time, 
But  most  ot  all,  the  zeal  of  fools  in  rhyme. 
Besides,  a  fate  attends  on  all  I  write, 
That  when  I  aim  at  praise,  they  say  I  bite. 
A  vile  encomium  doubly  ridicules : 
There's  nothing  blackens  like  the  ink  of  fools. 
If  true,  a  woful  likeness ;  and  if  lies, 
u  Praise  undeserved  is  scandal  in  disguise :" 
Well  may  he  blush,  who  gives  it,  or  receives ; 
And  when  I  flatter,  let  my  dirty  leaves 
(Like  journals,  odes,  and  such  forgotten  things 
As  Eusdeu,  Philips,  Settle,  writ  of  kings) 
Clothe  spice,  line  trunks,  or  fluttering  in  a  row, 
Befringe  the  rails  of  Bedlam  and  Soho. 


THE  SECOND  EPISTLES 


SECOND   BOOK   OF  HOEACE. 

DEAR  Colonel,  COBHAM'S  and  your  country's  friend ! 

You  love  a  verse,  take  such  as  I  can  send. 

A  Frenchman  comes,  presents  you  with  his  boy, 

Bows  and  begins — "  This  lad,  sir,  is  of  Bloia:1 

Observe  his  shape  how  clean  !  his  locks  how  curl'd  1 

My  only  son,  I'd  have  him  see  the  world : 

His  French  is  pure ;  his  voice  too — you  shall  hear. 

Sir,  he's  your  slave,  for  twenty  pound  a-year. 

Mere  wax  as  yet,  you  fashion  him  with  ease, 

Your  barber,  cook,  upholsterer,  what  you  please : 

A  perfect  genius  at  an  opera  song — 

To  say  too  much,  might  do  my  honour  wrong. 

Take  him  with  all  his  virtues,  on  my  word ; 

His  whole  ambition  was  to  serve  a  lord ; 

But,  sir,  to  you,  with  what  would  I  not  part  ? 

Tho'  faith,  I  fear,  'twill  break  his  mother's  heart. 

1  A  town  in  Beauce,  where  the  French  tongue  is  spoken  in  great 
purity. 


3ZO  IMITATIONS    OF    HORACE. 

Once  (and  but  once)  I  caught  him  in  a  lie, 
And  then,  unwhipp'd,  he  had  the  grace  to  cry: 
The  fault  he  has  I  fairly  shall  reveal, 
(Could  you  o'erlook  but  that)  it  is,  to  steal." 

If,  after  this,  you  took  the  graceless  lad, 
Could  you  complain,  my  friend,  he  proved  so  bad  1 
Faith,  in  such  case,  if  you  should  prosecute, 
I  think  Sir  Godfrey1  should  decide  the  suit; 
Who  sent  the  thief  that  stole  the  cash  away, 
And  punish'd  him  that  put  it  in  his  way. 

Consider  then,  and  judge  me  in  this  light; 
I  told  you  when  I  went,  I  could  not  write ; 
You  said  the  same ;  and  are  you  discontent 
With  laws  to  which  you  gave  your  own  assent  ? 
Nay,  worse,  to  ask  for  verse  at  such  a  time  ! 
D'ye  think  me  good  for  nothing  but  to  rhyme  1 

In  ANNA'S  wars,  a  soldier  poor  and  old, 
Had  dearly  earned  a  little  purse  of  gold: 
Tired  with  a  tedious  march,  one  luckless  night, 
He  slept,  poor  dog !  and  lost  it,  to  a  doit. 
This  put  the  man  in  such  a  desperate  mind, 
Between  revenge,  and  grief,  and  hunger,  join'd, 
Against  the  foe,  himself,  and  all  mankind, 
He  leap'd  the  trenches,  scaled  a  castle  wall, 
Tore  down  a  standard,  took  the  fort  and  all. 
"  Prodigious  well:"  his  great  commander  cried, 
Gave  him  much  praise,  and  some  reward  beside. 
Next  pleased  his  excellence  a  town  to  batter ; 
(Its  name  I  know  not,  and  'tis  no  great  matter) 
u  Go  on,  my  friend,  (he  cried)  see  yonder  walls  ! 
Advance  and  conquer !  go  where  glory  calls  ! 
More  honours,  more  rewards,  attend  the  brave." 
Don't  you  remember  what  reply  he  gave  1 
"  D'ye  think  me,  noble  general,  such  a  sot  ? 
Let  him  take  castles  who  has  ne'er  a  groat." 

Bred  up  at  home,  full  early  I  begun 
To  read  in  Greek  the  wrath  of  Peleus'  son. 
Besides,  my  father  taught  me  from  a  lad, 
The  better  art  to  know  the  good  from  bad : 
(And  little  sure  imported  to  remove, 
To  hunt  for  truth  in  Maudlin's  learned  grove.) 

1  An  eminent  justice  of  peace,  who  decided  mucn  in  the  manner  of 
Sancho  Pancha. 


IMITATIONS   OP   HORACE.  329 

But  knottier  points  we  knew  not  half  so  well, 

deprived  us  soon  of  our  paternal  cell- 

And  certain  laws,  by  sufferers  thought  unjust 

Denied  all  posts  of  profit  or  of  trust- 

Hopes  after  hopes  of  pious  papists  fail'd, 

While  mighty  WILLIAM'S  thundering  arm  prevail'd. 

For  right  hereditary  tax'd  and  fined^ 

He  stuck  to  poverty  with  peace  of  mind; 

And  me,  the  muses  help'd  to  undergo  it- 

Convict  a  papist  he,  and  I  a  poet. 

But,  (thanks  to  Homer)  since  I  live  and  thrive 

Indebted  to  no  prince  or  peer  alive 

Sure  I  should  want  the  care  often  Monroes 
It  1  would  scribble,  rather  than  repose. 

Years  following  years,  steal  something  every  day 
At  last  they  steal  us  from  ourselves  away; 
In  one  our  frolics,  one  amusements  end, 
In  one  a  mistress  drops,  in  one  a  friend : 
This  subtle  thief  of  life,  this  paltry  time, 
What  will  it  leave  me,  if  it  snatch  my  rhyme  ? 
If  every  wheel  of  that  unwearied  mill,     " 
That  turn'd  ten  thousand  verses,  now  stands  still? 

But  after  all,  what  would  you  have  me  do  ? 
When  out  of  twenty  I  can  please  not  two: 
When  this  heroics  only  deigns  to  praise, 
Sharp  ^satire  that,  and  that  Pindaric  lays  ? 
One  liKes  the  pheasant's  wing,  and  one  the  left  • 
The  vulgar  boil,  the  learned  roast  an  eg<r; 

wi   oufi  \A  ?*  the  palate  of  such  ^sts> 

When  Oldfield  loves,  what  Dartineuf  detests. 
But  grant  I  may  relapse,  for  want  of  "race 
Again  to  rhyme;  can  London  be  the  place  ! 

Who  there  his  muse,  or  self,  or  soul  attends 
In  crowds,  in  courts,  law,  business,  feasts,  and  friends  ? 
My  counsel  sends  to  execute  a  deed: 
A  poet  begs  me  I  will  hear  him  read: 
In  Palace-yard,  at  nine  you'll  find  me  there— 
At  ten  for  certain,  sir,  in  Bloomsbury-square— 
Before  the  lords,  at  twelve,  my  cause  comes  on— 
Iheres  a  rehearsal,  sir,  exact  at  one.— 
Oh  but  a  wit  can  study  in  the  streets 
And  raise  his  mind  above  the  mob  he  meets  " 
Sot  quite  so  well,  however,  as  one  ou^ht- 
A  hackney-coach  may  chance  to  spoifa  thought- 


330  IMITATIONS    OF    HORACE. 

And  then  a  nodding  beam,  or  pig  of  lead, 
God  knows,  may  hurt  the  very  ablest  head. 
Have  you  not  seen,  at  Guildhall's  narrow  pass, 
Two  aldermen  dispute  jt  with  an  ass  ? 
And  peers  give  way,  exalted  as  they  are, 
Even  to  their  own  sir-reverence  in  a  car  1 

Go,  lofty  poet !  and  in  such  a  crowd, 
Sing  thy  sonorous  verse — but  not  aloud. 
Alas  !  to  grottoes  and  to  groves^we  run, 
To  ease  and  silence,  every  Muse's  son: 
Blackmore  himself,  for  any  grand  effort, 
Would  drink  and  doze  at  Tooting  or  Earl's-court. 
How  shall  I  rhyme  in  this  eternal  roar  ? 
How  match  the  bards  whom  none  e'er  match'd  before  ? 

The  man,  who  stretch'd  in  Isis'  calm  retreat, 
To  books  and  study  gives  seven  years  complete, 
See  !  strew'd  with  learned  dust,  his  nightcap  on, 
He  walks,  an  object  new  beneath  the  sun ! 
The  boys  flock  round  him,  and  the  people  stare : 
So  stiff,  so  mute  !  some  statue  you  would  swear, 
Stept  from  its  pedestal  to  take  the  air  ! 
And  here,  while  town,  and  court,  and  city  roars, 
With  mobs,  and  duns,  and  soldiers,  at  their  doors; 
Shall  I,  in  London,  act  this  idle  part  1 
Composing  songs  for  fools  to  get  by  heart  ? 

The  Temple  late  two  brother  Serjeants  saw, 
Who  deem'd  each  other  oracles  of  law ; 
With  equal  talents,  these  congenial  souls, 
One  lull'd  the  Exchequer,  and  one  stunn'd  the  Eolls 
Each  had  a  gravity  woxild  make  you  split, 
And  shook  his  head  at  MURRAY,  as  a  wit. 
'Twas,  "  Sir,  your  law," — and  "  Sir,  your  eloquence, 
"Yours  Cowper's  manner," — and  "Yours  Talbot's^ 
Thus  we  dispose  of  all  poetic  merit,  [sense. 

Yours  Milton's  genius,  and  mine  Homer's  spirit. 
Call  Tibbald  Shakspeare,  and  he'll  swear  the  Nine, 
Dear  Cibber !  never  match'd  one  ode  of  thine. 
Lord !  how  we  strut  through  Merlin's  Cave,  to  see 
No  poets  there,  but  Stephen,  you,  and  me. 
Walk  with  respect  behind,  while  we  at  ease 
Weave  laurel  crowns,  and  take  what  names  we  please. 
"  My  dear  Tibullus  !"  (if  that  will  not  do,) 
"  Let  me  be  Horace,  and  be  Ovid  you: 


IMITATIONS    OF   HORACE.  331 

Or,  I'm  content,  allow  me  Dryden's  strains, 
And  you  shall  rise  up  Otway  for  your  pains," 
Much  do  I  suffer,  much  to  keep  in  peace 
This  jealous,  waspish,  wrong-head,  rhyming  race ; 
And  much  must  flatter,  if  the  whim  should  bite, 
To  court  applause  by  printing  what  I  write : 
But  let  the  fit  pass  o'er,  I'm  wise  enough 
To  stop  my  ears  to  their  confounded  stuff. 

In  vain  bad  rhymers  all  mankind  reject, 
They  treat  themselves  with  most  profound  respect; 
'Tis  to  small  purpose  that  you  hold  your  tongue, 
Each  praised  within,  is  happy  all  day  long; 
But  how  severely  with  themselves  proceed 
The  men,  who  write  such  verse  as  we  can  read  ? 
Their  own  strict  judges,  not  a  word  they  spare 
That  wants  or  force,  or  light,  or  weight,  or  care, 
Howe'er  unwillingly  it  quits  its  place, 
Nay,  though  at  court  (perhaps)  it  may  find  grace : 
Such  they'll  degrade ;  and  sometimes,  in  its  stead, 
In  downright  charity  revive  the  dead  j 
Mark  where  a  bold  expressive  phrase  appears, 
Bright  through  the  rubbish  of  some  hundred  years ; 
Command  old  words  that  long  have  slept,  to  wake, 
Words,  that  wise  Bacon  or  brave  Raleigh  spake ; 
Or  bid  the  new  be  English,  ages  hence, 
(For  use  will  father  what's  begot  by  sense) 
Pour  the  full  tide  of  eloquence  along, 
Serenely  pure,  and  yet  divinely  strong, 
Rich  with  the  treasures  of  each  foreign  tongue; 
Prune  the  luxuriant,  the  uncouth  refine, 
But  show  no  mercy  to  an  empty  line : 
Then  polish  all,  with  so  much  life  and  ease, 
You  think  'tis  nature,  and  a  knack  to  please: 
"  But  ease  in  writing  flows  from  art,  not  chance ; 
As  those  move  easiest  who  have  learn'd  to  dance." 

If  such  the  plague  and  pains  to  write  by  rule, 
Better  (say  I)  be  pleased,  and  play  the  fool; 
Call,  if  you  will,  bad  rhyming  a  disease, 
It  gives  men  happiness,  or  leaves  them  ease. 
There  lived  in  primo  Georgii  (they  record) 
A  worthy  member,  no  small  fool,  a  lord ; 
Who,  though  the  house  was  up,  delighted  sate, 
Heard,  noted,  answered,  as  in  full  debate: 


332  IMITATIONS   OF  HORACE. 

In  all  but  this,  a  man  of  sober  life, 

Fond  of  his  friend,  and  civil  to  his  wife ; 

Not  quite  a  madman,  though  a  pasty  fell, 

And  much  too  wise  to  walk  into  a  well. 

Him,  the  damn'd  doctors  and  his  friends  immured, 

They  bled,  they  cupp'd,  tliey  purged ;  in  short,  they 

Whereat  the  gentleman  began  to  stare —         [cured : 

My  friends  !  he  cried,  pox  take  you  for  your  care ! 

That  from  a  patriot  of  distinguish'd  note, 

Have  bled  and  purged  me  to  a  simple  vote. 

Well,  on  the  whole,  plain  prose  must  be  my  fate : 
Wisdom  (curse  on  it)  will  come  soon  or  late. 
There  is  a  time  when  poets  will  grow  dull : 
I'll  e'en  leave  verses  to  the  boys  at  school: 
To  rules  of  poetry  no  more  confined, 
I'll  learn  to  smooth  and  harmonize  my  mind, 
Teach  every  thought  within  its  bounds  to  roll, 
And  keep  the  equal  measure  of  the  soul. 

Soon  as  I  enter  at  my  country-door, 
My  mind  resumes  the  thread  it  dropt  before ; 
Thoughts,  which  at  Hyde-park  corner  I  forgot^ 
Meet  and  rejoin  me,  in  the  pensive  grot. 
There  all  alone,  and  compliments  apart, 
I  ask  these  sober  questions  of  my  heart ; 

If,  when  the  more  you  drink,  the  more  you  crave, 
You  tell  the  doctor;  when  the  more  you  have 
The  more  you  want,  why  not  with  equal  ease 
Confess  as  well  your  folly  as  disease  1 
The  heart  resolves  this  matter  in  a  trice, 
"  Men  only  feel  the  smart,  but  not  the  vice." 

When  golden  angels  cease  to  cure  the  evil, 
You  give  all  royal  witchcraft  to  the  devil : 
When  servile  chaplains  cry,  that  birth  and  place 
Indue  a  peer  with  honour,  truth,  and  grace. 
Look  in  that  breast,  most  dirty  D — !  be  fair, 
Say,  can  you  find  out  one  such  lodger  there  ? 
Yet  still,  not  heeding  what  your  heart  can  teach, 
You  go  to  church  to  hear  these  flatterers  preach. 

Indeed,  could  wealth  bestow  or  wit  or  merit^ 
A  grain  of  courage,  or  a  spark  of  spirit, 
The  wisest  man  might  blush,  I  must  agree 
If  D***  loved  sixpence,  more  than  he. 

If  there  be  truth  in  law,  and  use  can  give 
A  property,  that's  yours  en  which  you  live. 


IMITATIONS   OF   HORACE.  333 

Delightful  Abs-court,  if  its  fields  afford 

Their  fruits  to  you,  confesses  you  its  lord : 

All  Worldly's  hens,  nay  partridge,  sold  to  town, 

His  venison  too,  a  guinea  makes  your  own ; 

He  bought  at  thousands,  what  with  better  wit 

You  purchase  as  you  want',  and  bit  by  bit ; 

Now,  or  long  since,  what  difference  will  be  found ! 

You  pay  a  penny,  and  he  paid  a  pound. 

Heathcote  himself,  and  such  large-acred  men, 
Lords  of  fat  E'sham,  or  of  Lincoln  fen, 
Buy  every  stick  of  wood,  that  lends  them  heat, 
Buy  every  pullet  they  afford  to  eat. 
Yet  these  are  wights,  who  fondly  call  their  own 
Half  that  the  devil  o'erlooks  from  Lincoln  town. 
The  laws  of  God,  as  well  as  of  the  land, 
Abhor  a  perpetuity  should  stand : 
Estates  have  wings,  and  hang  in  fortune's  power, 
Loose  on  the  point  of  every  wavering  hour ; 
Ready  by  force,  or  of  your  own  accord, 
By  sale,  at  least  by  death,  to  change  their  lord. 
Man  ?  and/or  ever  ?  wretch  !  what  would'st  thou  have  ? 
Heir  urges  heir,  like  wave  impelling  wave. 
All  vast  possessions,  (just  the  same  the  case 
Whether  you  call  them  villa,  park,  or  chase), 
Alas,  my  BATHURST  !  what  will  they  avail  ? 
Join  Cotswold  hills  to  Saperton's  fair  dale, 
Let  rising  granaries  and  temples  here, 
There  miugled  farms  and  pyramids  appear, 
Link  towns  to  towns  with  avenues  of  oak, 
Enclose  whole  downs  in  walls,  'tis  all  a  joke ! 
Inexorable  death  shall  level  all, 
And  trees,  and  stones,  and  farms,  and  fanner,  fall. 

Gold,  silver,  ivory,  vases  sculptured  high, 
Paint,  marble,  gems,  and  robes  of  Persian  dye, 
There  are  who  have  not, — and  thank  Heaven  there  are, 
Who,  if  they  have  not,  think  not  worth  their  care. 

Talk  what  you  will  of  taste,  my  friend,  you'll  find 
Two  of  a  face,  as  soon  as  of  a  mind. 
Why,  of  two  brothers,  rich  and  restless  one 
Ploughs,  burns,  manures,  and  toils  from  sun  to  sun ; 
The  other  slights,  for  women,  sports,  and  wines, 
All  Townshend's  turnips,  and  all  Grosvenor's  mines : 
Why  one  like  Bu —  with  pay  and  scorn  content, 
Bows  and  votes  on,  in  court  and  Parliament; 
30 


334  IMITATIONS    OF    HORACE. 

One  driven  by  strong  benevolence  of  soul, 
Shall  fly  like  Oglethorpe,  from  pole  to  pole: 
Is  known  alone  to  that  directing  power, 
Who  forms  the  genius  in  the  natal  hour; 
That  God  of  Nature,  who,  within  us  still. 
Inclines  our  action,  not  constrains  our  will ; 
Various  of  temper,  as  of  face  or  frame, 
Each  individual:  His  great  end  the  same. 

Yes,  sir,  how  small  soever  be  my  heap, 
A  part  I  will  enjoy,  as  well  as  keep. 
My  heir  may  sigh,  and  think  it  want  of  grace 
A  man  so  poor  would  live  without  a  place: 
But  sure  no  statute  in  his  favour  says, 
How  free,  or  frugal,  I  shall  pass  my  days : 
I,  who  at  some  times  spend,  at  others  spare, 
Divided  between  carelessness  and  care. 
'Tis  one  thing  madly  to  disperse  my  store ; 
Another,  not  to  heed  to  treasure  more ; 
Glad,  like  a  boy,  to  snatch  the  first  good  day, 
And  pleased,  if  sordid  want  be  far  away. 

What  is't  to  me,  (a  passenger,  God  wot) 
Whether  my  vessel  be  first  rate  or  not  ? 
The  ship  itself  may  make  a  better  figure, 
But  I  that  sail,  am  neither  less  nor  bigger. 
I  neither  strut  with  every  favouring  breath, 
Nor  strive  with  all  the  tempest  in  my  teeth. 
In  power,  wit,  figure,  virtue,  fortune,  placed 
Behind  the  foremost,  and  before  the  last. 

"  But  why  all  this  of  avarice  ?  I  have  none." 
I  wish  you  joy,  sir,  of  a  tyrant  gone ; 
But  does  no  other  lord  it  at  this  hour, 
As  wild  and  mad  1  the  avarice  of  power  ? 
Does  neither  rage  inflame,  nor  fear  appal  ? 
Not  the  black  fear  of  death  that  saddens  all  ? 
With  terrors  round,  can  Reason  hold  her  throne, 
Despise  the  known,  nor  tremble  at  the  unknown  ? 
Survey  both  worlds,  intrepid  and  entire, 
In  spite  of  witches,  devils,  dreams,  and  fire  ? 
Pleased  to  look  forward,  pleased  to  look  behind, 
And  count  each  birth-day  with  a  grateful  mind  ? 
Has  life  no  sourness,  drawn  so  near  its  end ! 
Canst  thou  endure  a  foe,  forgive  a  friend  ? 
Has  age  but  melted  the  rough  parts  away, 
As  winter-fruits  grow  mild  ere  they  decay  ? 


IMITATIONS   OF   HORACE.  335 

Or  will  you  think,  my  friend,  your  business  done, 
When,  of  a  hundred  thorns,  you  pull  out  one  ? 
Learn  to  live  well,  or  fairly  make  your  will ; 
You've  play'd,  and  loved,  and  eat  and  drank  your  fill 
Walk  sober  off,  before  a  sprightlier  age 
Comes  tittering  on,  and  shoves  you  from  the  stage: 
Leave  such  to  trifle  with  more  grace  and  ease, 
Whom  folly  pleases,  and  whose  follies  please. 


EPISTLE  VII. 

IMITATED  IN   THE  MANNER  OF  DK.   SWIFT. 

'Tis  true,  my  lord,  I  gave  my  word, 
I  would  be  with  you  June  the  third; 
Changed  it  to  August,  and  in  short, 
Have  kept  it — as  you  do  at  court. 
You  humour  me  when  I  am  sick, 
Why  not  when  I  am  splenetic  ? 
In  town,  what  objects  could  I  meet  ? 
The  shops  shut  up  in  every  street, 
And  funerals  blackening  all  the  doors, 
And  yet  more  melancholy  whores : 
And  what  a  dust  in  every  place ! 
And  a  thin  court  that  wants  your  face, 
And  fevers  raging  up  and  down, 
And  W*  and  H**  both  in  town  ! 

"  The  dog-days  are  no  more  the  case." 
Tis  true,  but  winter  comes  apace : 
Then  southward  let  your  bard  retire, 
Hold  out  some  months  'twixt  sun  and  fire, 
And  you  shall  see,  the  first  warm  weather, 
Me  and  the  butterflies  together. 

My  lord,  your  favours  well  I  know; 
'Tis  with  distinction  you  bestow ; 
And  not  to  every  one  that  comes, 
Just  as  a  Scotsman  does  his  plums: 
"  Pray  take  them,  sir — enough's  a  feast 
Eat  some,  and  pocket  up  the  rest." — 
What,  rob  your  boys  ?  those  pretty  rogues ! 
"  No,  sir,  you'll  leave  them  to  the  hogs." 


336  IMITATIONS    OF    HOHACE. 

Thus  fools,  with  compliments  besiege  ye. 

Contriving  never  to  oblige  ye. 

Scatter  your  favours  on  a  fop, 

Ingratitude's  the  certain  crop 

And  'tis  but  just,  I'll  tell  ye  wherefore, 

You  give  the  things  you  never  care  for. 

A  wise'man  always  is,  or  should 

Be  mighty  ready  to  do  good : 

But  makes  a  difference  in  his  thought 

Betwixt  a  guinea  and  a  groat. 

Now  this  I'll  say,  you'll  find  in  me 
A  safe  companion,  and  a  free ; 
But  if  you'd  have  me  always  near — 
A  word,  pray,  in  your  honour's  ear. 
I  hope  it  is  your  resolution 
To  give  me  back  my  constitution.' 
The  sprightly  wit,  the  lively  eye, 
The  engaging  smile,  the  gaiety 
That  laugh'd  down  many  a  summer  sun 
And  kept  you  up  so  oft  till  one; 
And  all  that  voluntary  vein, 
As  when  Belinda  raised  my  strain. 

A  weasel  once  made  shift  to  slink 
In  at  a  corn-loft  through  a  chink, 
But  having  amply  stuff 'd  his  skin, 
Could  not  get  out  as  he  got  in ; 
Which  one  belonging  to  the  house 
('Twas  not  a  man,  it  was  a  mouse) 
Observing,  cried,  "  You  'scape  not  so ! 
Lean  as  you  came,  sir,  you  must  go." 

Sir,  you  may  spare  your  application ! 
I  m  no  such  beast,  nor  his  relation ; 
Nor  one  that  temperance  advance, 
Cramm'd  to  the  throat  with  ortolans: 
Extremely  ready  to  resign 
All  that  may  make  me  none  of  mine. 
South-sea  subscriptions  take  who  please 
Leave  me  but  liberty  and  ease. 
'Twas  what  I  said  to  Craggs  and  Child. 
Who  praised  my  modesty  and  smiled. 
Give  me,  I  cried,  (enough  for  me) 
My  bread,  and  independency! 
So  bought  an  annual  rent  or  two. 
And  lived— just  as  you  see  I  do; 


IMITATIONS   OF   HORACE.  337 

Near  fifty,  and  without  a  wife, 
I  trust  that  sinking  fund,  my  life. 
Can  I  retrench  ?    Yes,  mighty  weM, 
Shrink  back  to  my  paternal  cell, 
A  little  house,  with  trees  a-row, 
And,  like  its  master,  very  low. 
There  died  my  father,  no  man's  debtor, 
And  there  I'll  die,  nor  worse  nor  better. 

To  set  this  matter  full  before  ye, 
Our  old  friend  Swift  will  tell  his  story. 

"  Harley,  the  nation's  great  support,"— 
But  you  may  read  it,  I  stop  short. 


BOOK  II.— SATIRE  VI. 

THE  FIRST  PART  IMITATED  IN  THE    TEAR    1714,   BT  BB.  SWIFT, 
THE  LATTER  PART  ADDED  AFTERWARD*. 

I'VE  often  wish'd  that  I  had  clear 
For  life,  six  hundred  pounds  a  year, 
A  handsome  house  to  lodge  a  friend, 
A  river  at  my  garden's  end, 
A  terrace-walk,  and  half  a  rood 
Of  land,  set  out  to  plant  a  wood. 

"Well,  now  I  have  all  this  and  more, 
I  ask  not  to  increase  my  store ; 
But  here  a  grievance  seems  to  lie, 
All  this  is  mine  but  till  I  die; 
I  can't  but  think  'twould  sound  more  clever 
To  me  and  to  my  heirs  for  ever. 

If  I  ne'er  got  or  lost  a  groat, 
By  any  trick,  or  any  fault ; 
And  if  I  pray  by  Reason's  rules, 
And  not  like  forty  other  fools: 
As  thus, '  Vouchsafe,  O  gracious  Maker  I 
To  grant  me  this  and  t'other  acre: 
Or,  if  it  be  thy  will  and  pleasure, 
Direct  my  plough  to  find  a  treasure; 
But  only  what  my  station  fits, 
And  to  be  kept  in  my  right  wits, 
Preserve,  Almighty  Providence ! 
Just  what  you  gave  me,  cornpetencet 
30* 


338  IMITATIONS    OF   HORACE. 

i  And  let  me  in  these  shades  compose 
Something  in  verse  as  true  as  prose , 
Removed  from  all  the  ambitious  scene. 
Nor  pufFd  by  pride,  nor  sunk  by  spleen.' 

In  short,  I'm  perfectly  content, 
Let  me  but  live  on  this  side  Trent ; 
Nor  cross  the  channel  twice  a  year, 
To  spend  six  months  with  statesmen  here. 

I  must,  by  all  means,  come  to  town, 
'Tis  for  the  service  of  the  crown. 
"  Lewis,  the  Dean  will  be  of  use, 
Send  for  him  up,  take  no  excuse." 

The  toil,  the  danger  of  the  seas, 
Great  ministers  ne'er  think  of  these ; 
Or  let  it  cost  five  hundred  pound, 
No  matter  where  the  money's  found. 
It  is  but  so  much  more  in  debt, 
And  that  they  ne'er  consider'd  yet. 

"  Good  Mr.  Dean,  go  change  your  gown, 
Let  my  lord  know  you're  come  to  town." 
I  hurry  me  in  haste  away, 
Not  thinking  it  is  levee-day ; 
And  find  his  honour  in  a  pound, 
Hemm'd  by  a  triple  circle  round, 
Chequer'd  with  ribbons  blue  and  green: 
How  should  I  thrust  myself  between  '> 
Some  wag  observes  me  thus  perplex'd 
And  smiling,  whispers  to  the  next, 
"  I  thought  the  Dean  had  been  too  proud, 
To  justle  here  among  a  crowd." 
Another,  in  a  surly  fit, 
Tells  me  I  have  more  zeal  than  wit: 
"  So  eager  to  express  your  love, 
You  ne'er  consider  whom  you  shove, 
But  rudely  press  before  a  duke." 
I  own,  I'm  pleased  with  this  rebuke, 
And  take  it  kindly  meant  to  show 
What  I  desire  the  world  should  know. 

I  get  a  whisper,  and  withdraw : 
When  twenty  fools  I  never  saw 
Come  with  petitions  fairly  penn'd, 
Desiring  I  would  stand  their  friend. 

This  humbly  offers  me  his  case — 
That,  begs  my  interest  for  a  place — 


IMITATIONS   OF   HORACE.  939 

A  hundred  other  men's  affairs, 
Like  bees,  are  humming  in  my  ears. 
"  To-morrow  my  appeal  comes  on, 
Without  your  help  the  cause  is  gone"— 
The  duke  expects  my  lord  and  you, 
About  some  great  affair,  at  two — 
"  Put  my  Lord  Bolingbroke  in  mind, 
To  get  my  warrant  quickly  sign'd : 
Consider  'tis  my  first  request." — 
Be  satisfied,  I'll  do  my  best: — 
Then  presently  he  falls  to  tease, 
"  You  may  for  certain  if  you  please ; 
I  doubt  not,  if  his  lordship  knew — 
And  Mr.  Dean,  one  word  from  you" — 

Tis  (let  me  see)  three  years  and  more, 
(October  next  it  will  be  four) 
Since  HARLEY  bid  me  first  attend, 
And  chose  me  for  an  humble  friend ; 
Would  take  me  in  his  coach  to  chat, 
And  question  me  of  this  and  that ; 
As,  "  What's-o-clock  ?"    And,  "  How's  the  wind  T 
"  Whose  chariot's  that  we  left  behind  V 
Or  gravely  try  to  read  the  lines 
Writ  underneath  the  country  signs; 
Or,  "  Have  you  nothing  new  to-day 
From  Pope,  from  Parnell,  or  from  Gay  V 
Such  tattle  often  entertains 
My  lord  and  me  as  far  as  Staines, 
As  once  a  week  we  travel  down 
To  Windsor,  and  again  to  town ; 
Where  all  that  passes,  inter  nos, 
Might  be  proclaim'd  at  Charing-cross. 

Yet  some,  I  know,  with  envy  swell, 
Because  they  see  me  used  so  well: 
u  How  think  you  of  our  friend  the  Dean? 
I  wonder  what  some  people  mean ; 
My  lord  and  he  are  grown  so  great, 
Always  together,  tete-a-tete. 
What,  they  admire  him  for  his  jokes- 
See  but  the  fortune  of  some  folks !" 
There  flies  about  a  strange  report 
Of  some  express  arrived  at  court; 
I'm  stopp'd  by  all  the  fools  I  meet, 
And  catechised  in  every  street 
z  2 


340  IMITATIONS    OF  HORACE. 

"  You,  Mr.  Dean,  frequent  the  great; 
'Inform  us,  will  the  emperor  treat  ? 
Or  do  the  prints  and  papers  lie  1" 
"Faith,  sir,  you  know  as  much  as  I." 
"  Ah,  Doctor,  how  you  love  to  jest ! 
Tis  now  no  secret" — I  protest 
'Tis  one  to  me — "  Then  tell  us,  pray, 
"When  are  the  troops  to  have  their  pay  T 
And  though  I  solemnly  declare 
I  know  no  more  than  my  Lord  Mayor, 
They  stand  amazed,  and  think  me  grown 
The  closest  mortal  ever  known. 

Thus  in  a  sea  of  folly  toss'd, 
My  choicest  hours  of  life  are  lost; 
Yet  always  wishing  to  retreat, 
Oh,  could  I  see  my  country  seat ! 
There  leaning  near  a  gentle  brook, 
Sleep,  or  peruse  some  ancient  book, 
And  there  in  sweet  oblivion  drown 
Those  cares  that  haunt  the  court  and  town. 
O  charming  noons !  and  nights  divine ! 
Or  when  I  sup,  or  when  I  dine, 
My  friends  above,  my  folks  below, 
Chatting  and  laughing,  all-a-row, 
The  beans  and  bacon  set  before  'em, 
The  grace-cup  served  with  all  decorum: 
Each  willing  to  be  pleased,  and  please, 
And  even  the  very  dog's  at  ease ! 
Here  no  man  prates  of  idle  things; 
How  this  or  that  Italian  sings, 
A  neighbour's  madness,  or  his  spouse's, 
Or  what's  in  either  of  the  houses : 
But  something  much  more  our  concern, 
And  quite  a  scandal  not  to, learn: 
Which  is  the  happier,  or  the  wiser, 
A  man  of  merit,  or  a  miser  ? 
Whether  we  ought  to  choose  our  frienda, 
For  their  own  worth,  or  our  own  ends  1 
What  good,  or  better,  we  may  call, 
And  what,  the  very  best  of  all  ? 

Our  friend  Dan  Prior  told,  (you  knovr,) 
A  tale  extremely  d  propos: 
Name  a  town  life,  and  in  a  trice, 
He  had  a  story  of  two  mice. 


IMITATIONS   OP   HORACE.  341 

Once  on  a  time  (so  runs  the  fable) 
A  country  mouse,  right  hospitable, 
Received  a  town  mouse  at  his  board, 
Just  as  a  farmer  might  a  lord. 
A  frugal  mouse  upon  the  whole, 
Yet  loved  his  friend,  and  had  a  soul ; 
Knew  what  was  handsome,  and  would  do't, 
On  just  occasion,  codte  qui  co-Ate. 
He  brought  him  bacon,  (nothing  lean) 
Pudding,  that  might  have  pleased  a  dean; 
Cheese,  such  as  men  in  Suffolk  make, 
But  wish'd  it  Stilton  for  his  sake; 
Yet,  to  his  guest  though  no  way  sparing, 
He  eat  himself  the  rind  and  paring. 
Our  courtier  scarce  could  touch  a  bit, 
But  show'd  his  breeding  and  his  wit ; 
He  did  his  best  to  seem  to  eat, 
And  cried,  "  I  vow  you're  mighty  neat. 
But  Lord,  my  friend,  this  savage  scene  ! 
For  God's  sake,  come,  and  live  with  men: 
Consider,  mice,  like  men,  must  die, 
Both  small  and  great,  both  you  and  I: 
Then  spend  your  life  in  joy  and  sport. 
(This  doctrine,  friend,  I  learn'd  at  court.)" 

The  veriest  hermit  in  the  nation 
May  yield,  God  knows,  to  strong  temptation. 
Away  they  come,  through  thick  and  thin. 
To  a  tall  house  near  Lincoln's  Inn; 
(Twas  on  the  night  of  a  debate, 
When  all  their  lordships  had  sat  late.) 

Behold  the  place,  where  if  a  poet 
Shined  in  description,  he  might  show  it; 
Tell  how  the  moon-beam  trembling  falls, 
And  tips  with  silver  all  the  walls; 
Palladian  walls,  Venetian  doors, 
Grotesco  roofs,  and  stucco  floors; 
But  let  it,  in  a  word,  be  said, 
The  moon  was  up,  and  men  a-bed, 
The  napkins  white,  the  carpet  red ; 
The  guests  withdrawn  had  left  the  treat, 
And  down  the  mice  sat,  tete-a-tete. 

Our  courtier  walks  from  dish  to  dish, 
Tastes  for  his  friend  of  fowl  and  fish: 


34:2  IMITATIONS    OP   HORACE. 

Tells  all  their  names,  lays  down  the  law, 

"  Que  fa  est  bon  !    Ah  goutez  fa  ! 

That  jelly's  rich,  this  malmsey  healing, 

Pray,  dip  your  whiskers  and  your  tail  in." 

"Was  ever  such  a  happy  swain  ? 

He  stuffs  and  swills,  and  stuffs  again. 

u  I'm  quite  ashamed — 'tis  mighty  rude 

To  eat  so  much — but  all's  so  good. 

I  have  a  thousand  thanks  to  give — 

My  lord  alone  knows  how  to  live." 

No  sooner  said,  but  from  the  hall 

Rush  chaplain,  butler,  dogs,  and  all: 

u  A  rat !  a  rat !  clap  to  the  door" — 

The  cat  comes  bouncing  on  the  floor. 

O  for  the  heart  of  Homer's  mice, 

Or  gods  to  save  them  in  a  trice ! 

(It  was  by  Providence  they  think, 

For  your  damn'd  stucco  has  no  chink.) 

"  An't  please  your  honour,"  quoth  the  peasant : 

"  This  same  dessert  is  not  so  pleasant ; 

Give  me  again  my  hollow  tree, 

A  crust  of  bread,  and  liberty  !" 


BOOK    IV.  — ODE   I. 

TO  VENUS. 

AGAIN  !  new  tumults  in  my  breast  ? 

Ah  spare  me,  Venus  !  let  me,  let  me  rest ! 

I  am  not  now,  alas  !  the  man 

As  in  the  gentle  reign  of  my  queen  Anne. 

Ah  sound  no  more  thy  soft  alarms. 

Nor  circle  sober  fifty  with  thy  charms. 

Mother  too  fierce  of  dear  desires  ! 

Turn,  turn  to  willing  hearts  your  wanton  fireg. 

To  number  five  direct  your  doves, 

There  spread  round  MURRAY  all  your  blooming  loves 

Noble  and  young,  who  strikes  the  heart 

With  every  sprightly,  every  decent  part; 

Equal,  the  injured  to  defend, 

To  charm  the  mistress,  or  to  fix  the  friend. 

He  with  a  hundred  arts  refined, 

Shall  stretch  thy  conquests  over  half  the  kind: 


IMITATIONS    OF    HORACE.  343 

To  him  each  rival  shall  submit, 

Make  but  his  riches  equal  to  his  wit. 

Then  shall  thy  form  the  marble  grace, 

(Thy  Grecian  form)  and  Chlbe  lend  the  face: 

His  house  embosom'd  in  the  grove, 

Sacred  to  social  life  and  social  love, 

Shall  glitter  o'er  the  pendent  green, 

Where  Thames  reflects  the  visionary  scene : 

Thither,  the  silver-sounding  lyres 

Shall  call  the  smiling  Loves,  and  young  Desires ; 

There  every  Grace  and  Muse  shall  throng, 

Exalt  the  dance,  or  animate  the  song ; 

There  youths  and  nymphs,  in  consort  gay, 

Shall  hail  the  rising,  close  the  parting  day 

With  me,  alas !  those  joys  are  o'er; 

For  me,  the  vernal  garlands  bloom  no  more. 

Adieu  !  fond  hope  of  mutual  fire, 

The  still-believing,  still-renew'd  desire; 

Adieu  !  the  heart-expanding  bowl, 

And  all  the  kind  deceivers  of  the  soul! 

But  why  1  ah  tell  me,  ah  too  dear ! 

Steals  down  my  cheek,  the  involuntary  tear  ? 

Why  words  so  flowing,  thoughts  so  free, 

Stop,  or  turn  nonsense,  at  one  glance  of  thee ! 

Thee,  drest  in  fancy's  airy  beam, 

Absent  I  follow  through  the  extended  dream 

Now,  now  I  seize,  I  clasp  thy  charms, 

And  now  you  burst  (ah  cruel !)  from  my  arms 

And  swiftly  shoot  along  the  Mai], 

Or  softly  glide  by  the  canal, 

Now  shown  by  Cynthia's  silver  ray, 

And  now,  on  rolling  waters  snatch'd  away. 


PAET  OF  THE  NINTH  ODE 

OF  THE   FOURTH  BOOK. 

A  FRAGMENT. 

LEST  you  should  think  that  verse  shall  die, 
Which  sounds  the  silver  Thames  along, 

Taught  on  the  wings  of  truth  to  fly 
Above  the  reach  of  vulgar  song; 


344  THE  SATIRES   OF   DK.  DONNE   VERSIFIED. 

Though  daring  Milton  sits  sublime, 

In  Spenser  native  muses  play ; 
Nor  yet  shall  Waller  yield  to  time, 

Nor  pensive  Cowley's  moral  lay — • 

Sages  and  chiefs  long  since  had  birth 
Ere  Caesar  was,  or  Newton  named ; 

Those  raised  new  empires  o'er  the  earth, 
And  these,  new  heavens  and  systems  framed. 

Vain  was  the  chief's,  the  sage's  pride ! 
They  had  no  poet,  and  they  died. 
In  vain  they  schemed,  in  vain  they  bled ! 
They  had  no  poet,  and  are  dead. 


THE  SATIRES  OF  DR.  JOHN  DONNE, 

DEAD:  OP  ST.  PAUL'S, 

VERSIFIED. 


Quid  vetat  et  rosmet  Lucili  scripta  legentes 
Quserere  num  illius,  num  rerum  dura  negarit 
Versiculos  natura  magis  factos,  et  euntes 
Mollius?  lion. 


SATIRE  II. 

YES  ;  thank  my  stars !  as  early  as  I  knew 

This  town,  I  had  the  sense  to  hate  it  too: 

Yet  here,  as  even  in  hell,  there  must  be  still 

One  giant-vice  so  excellently  ill, 

That  all  beside,  one  pities,  not  abhors ; 

As  who  knows  Sappho,  smiles  at  other  whores. 

I  grant  that  poetry's  a  crying  sin ; 
It  brought  (no  doubt)  the  excise  and  army  in : 
Catch'd  like  the  plague,  or  love,  the  Lord  knows  how, 
But  that  the  cure  is  starving,  all  allow. 
Yet  like  the  papist's,  is  the  poet's  state, 
Poor  and  disarm'd  and  hardly  worth  your  hate  J 


TUB  SATIRES   OF  DR.  DONNE   VERSIFIED.  345 

Here  a  lean  bard,  whose  wit  could  never  give 
Himself  a  dinner,  makes  an  actor  live : 
The  thief  condemn'd  in  law  already  dead, 
So  prompts,  and  saves  a  rogue  who  cannot  read. 
Thus  as  the  pipes  of  some  carved  organ  move, 
The  gilded  puppets  dance  and  mount  above. 
Heaved  by  the  breath,  the  inspiring  bellows  blow  : 
The  inspiring  bellows  lie  and  pant  below. 

One  sings  the  fair  ;  but  songs  no  longer  move; 
No  rat  is  rhymed  to  death,  nor  maid  to  love: 
In  love's,  in  nature's  spite,  the  siege  they  hold, 
And  scorn  the  flesh,  the  devil,  and  all  but  gold. 

These  write  to  lords,  some  mean  reward  to  get, 
As  needy  beggars  sing  at  doors  for  meat. 
Those  write  because  all  write,  and  so  have  still  - 
Excuse  for  writing,  and  for  writing  ill. 

Wretched  indeed !  but  far  more  wretched  yet 
Is  he  who  makes  his  meal  on  others'  wit: 
'Tis  changed,  no  doubt,  from  what  it  was  before ; 
His  rank  digestion  makes  it  wit  no  more : 
Sense,  pass'd  through  him,  no  longer  is  the  same; 
For  food  digested  takes  another  name. 

I  pass  o'er  all  those  confessors  and  martyrs 
Who  live  like  Sutton,  or  who  die  like  Chartres, 
Out-cant  old  Esdras,  or  out-drink  his  heir, 
Out-usure  Jews,  or  Irishmen  out-swear; 
Wicked  as  pages,  who  in  early  years 
Act  sins  which  Prisca's  confessor  scarce  hears. 
Even  those  I  pardon,  for  whose  sinful  sake 
Schoolmen  new  tenements  in  hell  must  make ; 
Of  whose  strange  crimes  no  canonist  can  tell 
In  what  commandment's  large  contents  they  dwell. 

One,  one  man  only  breeds  my  just  offence ; 
Whom  crimes  gave  wealth,  and  wealth  gave  impudence : 
Time,  that  at  last  matures  a  clap  to  pox, 
Whose  gentle  progress  makes  a  calf  an  ox, 
And  brings  all  natural  events  to  pass, 
Hath  made  him  an  attorney  of  an  ass. 
No  young  divine,  new  beneficed,  can  be 
More  pert,  more  proud,  more  positive  than  he. 
What  further  could  I  wish  the  fop  to  do, 
But  turn  a  wit,  and  scribble  verses  too  ; 
Pierce  the  soft  labyrinth  of  a  lady's  ear 
With  rhymes  of  this  per  cent,  and  that  per  yearf 

31 


346  THE   SATIRES   OF   DR.  DONNE   VERSIFIED. 

Or  court  a  wife,  spread  out  his  wily  parts, 

Like  nets,  or  lime-twigs,  for  rich  widows'  hearts ; 

Call  himself  barrister  to  every  wench, 

And  woo  in  language  of  the  Pleas  and  Bench  ? 

Language,  which  Boreas  might  to  Auster  hold, 

More  rough  than  forty  Germans  when  they  scold. 

Cursed  be  the  wretch,  so  venal  and  so  vain : 
Paltry  and  proud,  as  drabs  in  Drury-lane. 
Tis  such  a  bounty  as  was  never  known, 
If  PETER  deigns  to  help  you  to  your  oum: 
What  thanks,  what  praise,  if  Peter  but  supplies! 
And  what  a  solemn  face,  "if  he  denies ! 
Grave,  as  when  prisoners  shake  the  head  and  swear 
'Twas  only  suretyship  that  brought  them  there. 
His  office  keeps  your  parchment  fates  entire, 
He  starves  with  cold  to  save  them  from  the  fire ; 
'  For  you  he  walks  the  streets  through  rain  or  dust, 
For  not  in  chariots  Peter  put  his  trust ; 
For  you  he  sweats  and  labours  at  the  laws, 
Takes  God  to  witness  he  affects  your  cause, 
And  lies  to  every  lord,  in  every  thing, 
Like  a  king's  favourite — or  like  a  king. 
These  are  the  talents  that  adorn  them  all, 
From  wicked  Waters  even  to  godly  *  *  ; 
Not  more  of  simony  beneath  black  gowns, 
Nor  more  of  bastardy  in  heirs  to  crowns. 
In  shillings  and  in  pence  at  first  they  deal ; 
And  steal  so  little,  few  perceive  they  steal ; 
Till,  like  the  sea,  they  compass  all  the  land, 
From  Scots  to  Wight,  from  Mount  to  Dover  strand : 
And  when  rank  widows  purchase  luscious  nights, 
Or  when  a  duke  to  Jansen  punts  at  White's; 
Or  city-heir  in  mortgage  melts  away; 
Satan  himself  feels  far  less  joy  than  they. 
Piecemeal  they  win  this  acre  first,  then  that, 
Glean  on,  and  gather  up  the  whole  estate. 
Then  strongly  fencing  ill-got  wealth  by  law, 
Indenture,  covenants,  articles  they  draw, 
Large  as  the  fields  themselves,  and  larger  far 
Than  civil  codes,  with  all  their  glosses,  are ; 
So  vast,  our  new  divines,  we  must  confess, 
Are  fathers  of  the  church  for  writing  less. 
But  let  them  write  for  you,  each  rogue  impairs 
The  deeds,  and  dextrouslv  omits,  ses  heires: 


THE  SATIRES  OF  DR.  DONNE   VERSIFIED.  347 

No  commentator  can  more  slily  pass 

O'er  a  learn'd  unintelligible  place ; 

Or,  in  quotation,  shrewd  divines  leave  out 

Those  words,  that  would  against  them  clear  the  doubt. 

So  Luther  thought  the  paternoster  long, 
When  doom'd  to  say  his  beads  and  even-song ; 
But  having  cast  his  cowl,  and  left  those  laws, 
Adds  to  Christ's  prayer,  the  power  and  glory  clause. 

The  lands  are  bought;  but  where  are  to  be  found 
Those  ancient  woods  that  shaded  all  the  ground  ? 
We  see  no  new-built  palaces  aspire, 
No  kitchens  emulate  the  vestal  fire. 
Where  are  those  troops  of  poor,  that  throng'd  of  yore 
The  good  old  landlord's  hospitable  door? 
Well,  I  could  wish,  that  still  in  lordly  domes 
Some  beasts  were  kill'd,  though  not  whole  hecatombs ; 
That  both  extremes  were  banish'd  from  their  walls, 
Carthusian  fasts,  and  fulsome  bacchanals ; 
And  all  mankind  might  that  just  mean  observe, 
In  which  none  e'er  could  surfeit,  none  could  starve. 
These  as  good  works,  'tis  true,  we  all  allow, 
But  oh!  these  works  are  not  in  fashion  now: 
Like  rich  old  wardrobes,  things  extremely  rare, 
Extremely  fine,  but  what  no  man  will  wear. 

Thus  much  I've  said,  I  trust,  without  offence ; 
Let  no  court  sycophant  pervert  my  sense, 
Nor  sly  informer  watch  these  words  to  draw 
Within  the  reach  of  treason,  or  the  law. 


SATIEE  IV 

WELL,  if  it  be  ray  time  to 
Adieu  to  all  the  follies  of  the  age ! 
I  die  in  charity  with  fool  and  knave, 
Secure  of  peace  at  least  beyond  the  grave. 
I've  had  my  purgatory  here  betimes, 
And  paid  for  all  my  satires,  all  my  rhymes. 
The  poet's  hell,  its  tortures,  fiends,  and  flames, 
To  this  were  trifles,  toys,  and  empty  names. 

With  foolish  pride  my  heart  was  never  fired, 
Nor  the  vain  itch  to  admire,  or  be  admired; 


348          THE  SATIRES  OP  DK.  DONNE  VERSIFIED. 

I  hoped  for  no  commission  from  his  grace ; 

I  bought  no  benefice,  I  begg'd  no  place ; 

Had  no  new  verses,  nor  new  suit  to  show; 

Yet  went  to  court! — the  devil  would  have  it  so. 

But,  as  the  fool  that  in  reforming  days 

"Would  go  to  mass  in  jest  (as  story  says) 

Could  not  but  think,  to  pay  his  fine  was  odd, 

Since  'twas  no  form'd  design  of  serving  God; 

So  was  I  puuish'd,  as  if  full  as  proud 

As  prone  to  ill,  as  negligent  of  good, 

As  deep  in  debt,  without  a  thought  to  pay, 

As  vain,  as  idle,  and  as  false,  as  they 

Who  live  at  court,  for  going  once  that  way! 

Scarce  was  I  enter'd,  when,  behold !  there  came 

A  thing  which  Adam  had  been  posed  to  name ; 

Noah  had  refused  it  lodging  in  his  ark, 

Where  all  the  race  of  reptiles  might  embark : 

A  verier  monster,  than  on  Afric's  shore 

The  sun  e'er  got,  or  slimy  Nilus  bore, 

Or  Sloane  or  Woodward's  wondrous  shelves  contain, 

Nay,  all  that  lying  travellers  can  feign. 

The  watch  would  hardly  let  him  pass  at  noon, 

At  night  would  swear  him  dropt  out  of  the  moon. 

One,  whom  the  mob,  when  next  we  find  or  make 

A  popish  plot,  shall  for  a  Jesuit  take, 

And  the  wise  justice,  starting  from  his  chair, 

Cry,  By  your  priesthood  tell  me  what  you  are  ? 

Such  was  the  wight:  The  apparel  on  his  back, 

Though  coarse,  was  reverena,and  though  bare,  was  black: 

The  suit,  if  by  the  fashion  one  might  guess, 

Was  velvet  in  the  youth  of  good  Queen  Bess, 

But  mere  tuff-taffety  what  now  remain'd ; 

So  Time,  that  changes  all  things,  had  ordain'd ! 

Our  sons  shall  see  it  leisurely  decay, 

First  turn  plain  rash,  then  vanish  quite  away. 

This  thing  has  travell'd,  speaks  each  language  too, 
And  knows  what's  fit  for  every  state  to  do ; 
Of  whose  best  phrase  and  courtly  accent  join'd, 
He  fornjs  one  tongue,  exotic  and  refined. 
Talkers  I've  learn'd  to  bear ;  Motteux  I  knew, 
Henley  himself  I've  heard,  and  Budgell  too. 
The  Doctor's  wormwood  style,  the  hash  of  tongues 
A  pedant  makes,  the  storm  of  Gonson's  lungs, 


THE  SATIRES   OF  DR.  DONNE   VERSIFIED.          349 

The  whole  artillery  of  the  terms  of  war, 
And  (all  those  plagues  in  one)  the  bawling  bar: 
These  I  could  bear ;  but  not  a  rogue  so  civil, 
Whose  tongue  will  compliment  you  to  the  devil: 
A  tongue,  that  can  cheat  widows,  cancel  scores, 
Make  Scots  speak  treason,  cozen  subtlest  whores, 
With  royal  favourites  in  flattery  vie, 
And  Oldmixon  and  Burnet  both  outlie. 

He  spies  me  out;  I  whisper,  gracious  God! 
What  sin  of  mine  could  merit  such  a  rod  ? 
That  all  the  shot  of  dulness  now  must  be 
From  this  thy  blunderbuss  discharged  on  me ! 
Permit  (he  cries)  no  stranger  to  your  fame 

To  crave  your  sentiment,  if 's  your  name. 

What  speech  esteem  you  most ?   " The  king's"  said  I. 
But  the  best  icords? — "  O,  Sir,  the  dictionary" 
You  miss  my  aim ;  I  mean  the  most  acute, 
And  perfect  speaker? — "  Onslow,  past  dispute." 
But,  Sir,  of  writers?  "  Swift  for  closer  style, 
But  Hoadly  for  a  period  of  a  mile." 
Why  yes,  'tis  granted,  these  indeed  may  pass : 
Good  common  linguists,  and  so  Panurge  was ; 
Nay  troth  the  apostles  (though  perhaps  too  rough) 
Had  once  a  pretty  gift  of  tongues  enough : 
Yet  these  were  all  poor  gentlemen !  I  dare 
Affirm,  'twas  travel  made  them  what  they  were. 

Thus  other  talents  having  nicely  shown, 
He  came  by  sure  transition  to  his  own: 
Till  I  cried  out,  You  prove  yourself  so  able, 
Pity !  you  was  not  dragoman  at  Babel ; 
For  had  they  found  a  linguist  half  so  good, 
I  make  no  question  but  the  tower  had  stood. 

"  Obliging  Sir !  for  courts  you  sure  were  made : 
Why  then  for  ever  buried  in  the  shade  ? 
Spirits  like  you,  should  see  and  should  be  seen, 
The  king  would  smile  on  you — at  least  the  queen." 
"  Ah,  gentle  Sir !  you  courtiers  so  cajole  us — 
But  Tully  has  it,  Nunquam  minus  solus: 
And  as  for  courts,  forgive  me,  if  I  say 
No  lessons  now  are  taught  the  Spartan  way: 
Though  in  his  pictures  lust  be  full  display'd, 
Few  are  the  converts  Aretine  has  made : 
And  though  the  court  show  vice  exceeding  clear, 
None  should,  by  my  advice,  learn  virtue  there." 

31* 


350          THE   SATIRES   OF   DR.  1>ONNE    VERSIFIED. 

At  this  entranced,  he  lifts  his  hands  and  eyes, 
Squeaks  like  a  high-stretch'd  lutestring,  and  replies; 
"  Oh,  'tis  the  sweetest  of  all  earthly  things 
To  gaze  on  princes,  and  to  talk  of  kings!" 
Then,  happy  man  who  shows  the  tombs !  said  I, 
He  dwells  amidst  the  royal  family ; 
He  every  day,  from  king  to  king  can  walk, 
Of  all  our  Harries,  all  our  Edwards  talk, 
And  get  by  speaking  truth  of  monarchs  dead, 
What  few  can  ol  the  living,  ease  and  bread. 
"  Lord,  Sir,  a  mere  mechanic !  strangely  low, 
And  coarse  of  phrase,-^-your  English  all  are  so. 
How  elegant  your  Frenchmen  ?"    Mine,  d'ye  mean  ? 
I  have  but  one,  I  hope  the  fellow's  clean. 
"  Oh !  Sir,  politely  so!  nay,  let  me  die, 
Your  only  wearing  is  your  paduasoy." 
Not,  Sir,  my  only,  I  have  better  still, 
And  this  you  see  is  but  my  dishabille. — 
Wild  to  get  loose,  his  patience  I  provoke, 
Mistake,  confound,  object  at  all  he  spoke: 
But  as  coarse  iron,  sharpen'd,  mangles  more, 
And  itch  most  hurts  when  anger 'd  to  a  sore ; 
So  when  you  plague  a  fool,  'tis  still  the  curse, 
You  only  make  the  matter  worse  and  worse. 

He  pass'd  it  o'er ;  affects  an  easy  smile 
At  all  my  peevishness,  and  turns  his  style. 
He  asks,  "  What  news  ?"  I  tell  him  of  new  plays, 
New  eunuchs,  harlequins,  and  operas. 
He  hears,  and  as  a  still  with  simples  in  it, 
Between  each  drop  it  gives,  stays  half  a  minute, 
Loth  to  enrich  me  with  too  quick  replies, 
By  little,  and  by  little,  drops  his  lies. 
Mere  household  trash !  of  birth-nights,  balls,  and  shows, 
More  than  ten  Hollinsheds,  or  Halls,  or  Stowes. 
When  the  queen  frown'd,  or  smiled,  he  knows;  and  what 
A  subtle  minister  may  make  of  that: 
Who  sins  with  whom:  who  got  his  pension  rug, 
Or  quicken'd  a  reversion  by  a  drug : 
Whose  place  is  quarter'd  out,  three  parts  in  four, 
And  whether  to  a  bishop,  or  a  whore : 
Who,  having  lost  his  credit,  pawn'd  his  rent, 
Is  therefore  fit  to  have  a  government : 
Who  in  the  secret,  deals  in  stocks  secure, 
And  cheats  the  unknowing  widow  and  the  poor 


THE   SATIRES   OP  DR.  DONNE   VERSIFIED.          351 

Who  makes  a  trust  of  charity  a  job, 
And  gets  an  act  of  parliament  to  rob: 
Why  turnpikes  rise,  and  now  no  cit  nor  clown 
Can  gratis  see  the  country,  or  the  town : 
Shortly  no  lad  shall  chuck,  or  lady  vole, 
But  some  excising  courtier  will  have  toll. 
He  tells  what  strumpet  places  sells  for  life, 
What  squire  liis  lands,  what  citizen  his  wife ; 
And  last  (which  proves  him  wiser  still  than  all) 
What  lady's  face  is  not  a  whited  wall. 

As  one  of  Woodward's  patients,  sick,  and  sore, 
I  puke,  I  nauseate, — yet  he  thrusts  in  more: 
Trims  Europe's  balance,  tops  the  statesman's  part, 
And  talks  Gazettes  and  Post-boys  o'er  by  heart. 
Like  a  big  wife  at  sight  of  loathsome  meat 
Ready  to  cast,  I  yawn,  I  sigh,  and  sweat. 
Then  as  a  licensed  spy,  whom  nothing  can 
Silence  or  hurt,  he  libels  the  great  man  ; 
Swears  every  place  entail'd  for  years  to  come, 
In  sure  succession  to  the  day  of  doom : 
He  names  the  price  for  every  office  paid, 
And  says  our  wars  thrive  ill,  because  delay'd: 
Nay,  hints,  'tis  by  connivance  of  the  court, 
That  Spain  robs  on,  and  Dunkirk's  still  a  port. 
Not  more  amazement  seized  on  Circe's  guests, 
To  see  themselves  fall  endlong  into  beasts, 
Than  mine,  to  find  a  subject  staid  and  wise 
Already  half  turn'd  traitor  by  surprise. 
I  felt  the  infection  slide  from  him  to  me, 
As  in  the  pox,  some  give  it  to  get  free ; 
And  quick  to  swallow  me,  methought  I  saw 
One  of  our  giant  statues  ope  its  jaw. 

In  that  nice  moment,  as  another  lie 
Stood  just  a-tilt,  the  minister  came  by. 
To  him  he  flies,  and  bows,  and  bows  again, 
Then,  close  as  Umbra,  joins  the  dirty  train. 
Not  Fannius'  self  more  impudently  near, 
When  half  his  nose  is  in  his  Prince's  ear. 
I  quaked  at  heart;  and  still  afraid,  to  see 
All  the  court  fill'd  with  stranger  things  than  he, 
Ban  out  as  fast  as  one,  that  pays  his  bail 
And  dreads  more  actions,  hurries  from  a  gaol. 

Bear  me,  some  god !  oh  quickly  bear  me  hence 
To  wholesome  solitude,  the  nurse  of  sense : 


352          THE  SATIRES   OF  DR.  DONNE  VERSIFIED. 

Where  Contemplation  prunes  her  ruffled  wings, 
And  the  free  soul  looks  down  to  pity  kings ! 
There  sober  thought  pursued  the  amusing  theme 
Till  fancy  colour'd  it,  and  form'd  a  dream. 
A  vision  hermits  can  to  hell  transport, 
And  forced  even  me  to  see  the  damn'd  at  court. 
Not  Dante  dreaming  all  the  infernal  state 
Beheld  such  scenes  of  envy,  sin,  and  hate. 
Base  fear  becomes  the  guilty,  not  the  free ; 
Suits  tyrants,  plunderers,  but  suits  not  me : 
Shall  I,  the  terror  of  this  sinful  town, 
Care,  if  a  liveried  lord  or  smile  or  frown  1 
"Who  cannot  flatter,  and  detest  who  can, 
Tremble  before  a  noble  serving-man  ? 

0  my  fair  mistress,  Truth  !  shall  I  quit  thee 
For  huffing,  braggart,  puff'd  nobility  ] 
Thou,  who  since  yesterday  hast  roll'd  o'er  all 
The  busy,  idle  blockheads  of  the  ball, 

Hast  thou,  O  Sun  !  beheld  an  emptier  sort, 
Than  such  as  swell  this  bladder  of  a  court  ? 
Now  pox  on  those  who  show  a  court  in  wax  f1 
It  ought  to  bring  all  courtiers  on  their  backs: 
Such  painted  puppets  !  such  a  varnish'd  race 
Of  hollow  gew-gaws,  only  dress  and  face  ! 
Such  waxen  noses,  stately  staring  things — 
No  wonder  some  folks  bow,  and  think  them  kings. 
See !  where  the  British  youth,  engaged  no  more 
At  Fig's,  at  White's,2  with  felons,  or  a  whore, 
Pay  their  last  duty  to  the  court,  and  come 
All  fresh  and  fragrant  to  the  drawing  room; 
In  hues  as  gay,  and  odours  as  divine, 
As  the  fair  fields  they  sold  to  look  so  fine. 
"That's  velvet  for  a  king  !"  the  flatterer  swears; 
'Tis  true,  for  ten  days  hence  'twill  be  king  Lear's. 
Our  court  may  justly  to  our  stage  give  rules, 
That  helps  it  both  to  fools-coats  and  to  fools. 
An4  why  not  players  strut  in  courtiers'  clothes  1 
For  these  are  actors  too,  as  well  as  those: 

1  A  famous  show  of  the  court  of  France,  in  wax- work. 

2  White's  was  a  noted  gaming-house :  Fig's,  a  prize-fighter's  academy, 
where  the  young  nobility  received  instruction  in  those  flays :  it  was  also 
customary  for  the  nobility  and  gentry  to  visit  the  condemned  criminals 
in  Newgate. 


THE  SATIKES  OP   DR.    DONNE  VERSIFIED.  353 

"Wants  reach  all  states ;  they  beg  but  better  drest, 
And  all  is  vplendid  poverty  at  best. 

Painted  for  sight,  and  essenced  for  the  smell, 
Like  frigates  fraught  with  spice  and  cochine'l, 
Sail  in  the  ladies,  how  each  pirate  eyes 
So  weak  a  vessel,  and  so  rich  a  prize  ! 
Top-gallant  he,  and  she  in  all  her  trim, 
He  boarding  her,  she  striking  sail  to  him: 
"  Dear  countess  !  you  have  charms  all  hearts  to  hit !" 
And  "  Sweet  Sir  Fopling  !  you  have  so  much  wit !" 
Such  wits  and  beauties  are  not  praised  for  nought, 
For  both  the  beauty  and  the  wit  are  bought. 
'Twould  burst  even  Heraclitus  with  the  spleen, 
To  see  those  antics,  Fopling  and  Courtin : 
The  presence  seems,  with  tilings  so  richly  odd, 
The  mosque  of  Mahound,  or  some  queer  pagod. 
See  them  survey  their  limbs  by  Durer's  rules, 
Of  all  beau-kind  the  best  proportion'd  fools  ! 
Adjust  their  clothes,  and  to  confession  draw 
Those  venial  sins,  an  atom,  or  a  straw ; 
But  oh  !  what  terrors  must  distract  the  soul 
Convicted  of  that  mortal  crime,  a  hole ; 
Or  should  one  pound  of  powder  less  bespread 
Those  monkey-tails  that  wag  behind  their  head. 
Thus  finish'd,  and  corrected  to  a  hair, 
They  march,  to  prate  their  hour  before  the  fair. 
So  first  to  preach  a  white-gloved  chaplain  goea, 
With  band  of  lily,  and  with  cheek  of  rose, 
Sweeter  than  Sharon,  in  immaculate  trim, 
Neatness  itself  impertinent  in  him. 
Let  but  the  ladies  smile,  and  they  are  blest : 
Prodigious  !  how  the  things  protest,  protest: 
Peace,  fools,  or  Gonson  will  for  papists  seize  you, 
If  once  he  catch  you  at  your  Jesu  !  Jem! 

Nature  made  every  fop  to  plague  his  brother, 
Just  as  one  beauty  mortifies  another. 
But  here's  the  captain  that  will  plague  them  both, 
"Whose  air  cries  arm !  whose  very  look's  an  oath: 
The  captain's  honest,  sirs,  and  that's  enough, 
Though  his  soul's  bullet,  and  his  body  buff. 
He  spits  fore-right ;  his  haughty  chest  before, 
Like  batt'ring  rams,  beats  open  every  door: 
And  with  a  face  as  red,  and  as  awry, 
Aa  Herod's  hang-dogs  in  old  tapestry, 


354  EPILOGUE   TO   THE   SATIRES. 

Scarecrow  to  boys,  the  breeding  woman's  curse, 
Has  yet  a  strange  ambition  to  look  worse ; 
Confounds  the  civil,  keeps  the  rude  in  awe, 
Jests  like  a  licensed  fool,  commands  like  law. 

Frighted,  I  quit  the  room,  but  leave  it  so 
As  men  from  gaols  to  execution  go ; 
Fof,  hung  with  deadly  sins,1  I  see  the  wall, 
And  lined  with  giants  deadlier  than  them  all: 
Each  man  an  Ascapart?  of  strength  to  toss 
For  quoits,  both  Temple-bar  and  Chartng-cross. 
Scared  at  the  grizly  forms,  I  sweat,  I  fly, 
And  shake  all  o'er,  like  a  discover'd  spy. 

Courts  are  too  much  for  wits  so  weak  as  mine : 
Charge  them  with  Heaven's  artillery,  bold  divine  ! 
From  such  alone  the  great  rebukes  endure, 
Whose  satire's  sacred,  and  whose  rage  secure : 
'Tis  mine  to  wash  a  few  light  stains,  but  theirs 
To  deluge  sin,  and  drown  a  court  in  tears. 
Howe'er  what's  now  Apocrypha,  my  wit, 
In  time  to  come,  may  pass  for  Holy  Writ. 


EPILOGUE  TO   THE    SATIRES. 

IN    TWO   DIALOGUES. 

WRITTEN  IN    1738. 


DIALOGUE   I. 

FR.  Not  twice  a  twelvemonth  you  appear  in  print, 
And  when  it  comes,  the  court  see  nothing  in't. 
You  grow  correct  that  once  with  rapture  writ, 
And  are,  besides,  too  moral  for  a  wit. 
Decay  of  parts,  alas  !  we  all  must  feel — 
Why  now,  this  moment,  don't  I  see  you  steal  ? 
'Tis  all  from  Horace ;  Horace  long  before  ye 
Said,  "  Tories  call'd  him  whig,  and  whigs  a  tory ;" 
And  taught  his  Eomans,  in  much  better  metre, 
"  To  laugh  at  fools  who  put  their  trust  in  Peter." 

1  The  room  hung  with  old  tapestry,  representing  the  seven  deadly 
sins. 

2  A  giant  famous  in  romances. 


EPILOGUE    TO    THE   SATIRES.   .  355 

But  Horace,  Sir,  was  delicate,  was  nice 
Bubo  observes,1  he  lash'd  no  sort  of  vice: 
Horace  would  say,  Sir  Billy  served  the  crown, 
Blunt  could  do  business,  H — ggins2  knew  the  town; 
In  Sappho  touch  the  failings  of  the  sex, 
In  reverend  bishops  note  some  small  neglects, 
And  own,  the  Spaniard  did  a  waggish  thing, 
Who  cropt  our  ears,3  and  sent  them  to  the  king. 
His  sly,  polite,  insinuating  style 
Could  please  at  court,  and  make  AUGUSTUS  smile: 
An  artful  manager,  that  crept  between 
His  friend  and  shame,  and  was  a  kind  of  screen. 
But  'faith  your  very  friends  will  soon  be  sore; 
Patriots  there  are,  who  wish  you'd  jest  no  more—- 
And where's  the  glory  ?  'twill  be  only  thought 
The  Great  man  never  offer'd  you  a  groat. 
Go  see  SIR  ROBERT — 

P.  See  SIR  ROBERT  ! — hum ! 
And  never  laugh — for  all  my  life  to  come  ? 
Seen  him  I  have,  but  in  his  happier  hour 
Of  social  pleasure,  ill  exchanged  for  power; 
Seen  him,  uncumber'd  with  the  venal  tribe, 
Smile  without  art,  and  win  without  a  bribe. 
Would  he  oblige  me  ?  let  me  only  find, 
He  does  not  think  me  what  he  thinks  mankind. 
Come,  come, at  all  I  laugh  he  laughs,  no  doubt; 
The  only  difference  is,  I  dare  laugh  out. 

F.  Why,  yes :  with  Scripture  still  you  may  be  free ; 
A  horse-laugh,  if  you  please,  at  Honesty; 
A  joke  on  JEKYL,4  or  some  odd  Old  Whig 
Who  never  changed  his  principle,  or  wig : 
A  patriot  is  a  fool  in  every  age, 
Whom  all  Lord  Chamberlains  allow  the  stage : 
These  nothing  hurts ;  they  keep  their  fashion  still, 
And  wear  their  strange  old  virtue,  as  they  will. 

1  Some  guilty  person,  very  fond  of  making  such  an  observation. 

3  Formerly  gaoler  of  the  Fleet  prison,  enriched  himself  by  many 
exactions,  for  which  he  was  tried  and  expelled. 

3  Said  to  be  executed  by  the  captain  of  a  Spanish  ship  on  one 
Jenkins,  a  captain  of  an  English  one.  He  cut  off  his  ears,  and  bid  him 
carry  them  to  the  king  his  master. 

*  Sir  Joseph  Jekyl,  Master  of  the  Rolls,  a  true  Whig  in  his  principles, 
and  a  man  of  the  utmost  probity.  He  sometimes  voted  against  the 
Court,  which  drew  upon  him  the  laugh  here  described  of  ONE  who 
bestowed  it  equally  upon  religion  and  honesty. 


356  EPILOGUE   TO    THE    SATIRES. 

If  any  ask  you,  "  Who's  the  man  so  near 
His  prince,  that  writes  in  verse,  and  has  his  earl" 
"Why,  answer  LYTTEivroN,1  and  I'll  engage 
The  worthy  youth  shall  ne'er  be  in  a  rage: 
But  were  his  verses  vile,  his  whisper  base, 
You'd  quickly  find  him  in  Lord  Fanny's  case. 
Sejanus,  Wolsey,2  hurt  not  honest  FLEURY,3 
But  well  may  put  some  statesmen  in  a  fury. 

Laugh  then  at  any,  but  at  fools  or  foes ; 
These  you  but  anger,  and  you  mend  not  those. 
Laugh   at   your   friends,  and,  if  your  friends   are 

sore, 

So  much  the  better,  you  may  laugh  the  more. 
To  vice  and  folly  to  confine  the  jest, 
Sets  half  the  world,  God  knows,  against  the  rest; 
Did  not  the  sneer  of  more  impartial  men 
At  sense  and  virtue  balance  all  again. 
Judicious  wits  spread  wide  the  ridicule, 
And  charitably  comfort  knave  and  fool. 

P.  Dear  sir,  forgive  the  prejudice  of  youth  : 
Adieu  distinction,  satire,  warmth,  and  truth ! 
Come,  harmless  characters  that  no  one  hit ; 
Come  Henley's  oratory,  Osborn's  wit ! 
The  honey  dropping  from  Favonio's  tongue, 
The  flowers  of  Bubo,  and  the  flow  of  Young ! 
The  gracious  dew*  of  pulpit  eloquence, 
And  all  the  well-whipt  cream  of  courtly  sense, 
That  first  was  H — vy's,  F — 's  next,  and  then 
The  S — te's,  and  then  H — vy's  once  again. 

0  come,  that  easy,  Ciceronian  style, 
So  Latin,  yet  so  English  all  the  while, 

As,  though  the  pride  of  Middleton  and  Bland, 
All  boys  may  read,  and  girls  may  understand  J 
Then  might  I  sing,  without  the  least  offence, 
And  all  I  sung  should  be  the  nation's  sense; 

1  George  Lyttelton,  Secretary  to  the  Prince  of  "Wales,  distinguished 
both  for  his  writings  and  speeches  in  the  spirit  of  liberty. 

2  The  one  the  wicked  minister  of  Tiberius ;  the  other  of  Henry  VIII. 
The  writers  against  the  Court  usually  bestowed  these  and  other  odious 
names  on  the  Minister,  without  distinction. 

3  Cardinal;  and  Minister  to  Louis  XV.     It  was  a  patriot-fashion,  at 
that  time,  to  cry  up  his  wisdom  and  honesty. 

4  Alludes  to  some  Court  sermons,  and  florid  panegyrical  speeches 
particularly  one  very  full  of  puerilities  and  flatteries. 


EPILOGUE   TO  THE   SATIRES.  357 

Or  teach  the  melancholy  muse  to  mourn, 
Hang  the  sad  verse  on  CAROLINA'S'  urn, 
And  hail  her  passage  to  the  realms  of  rest, 
All  parts  perform'd,  and  all  her  children  blest ! 
So — Satire  is  no  more — I  feel  it  die — 
No  Gazetteer  more  irinocent  than  I — 
And  let,  a  God's-name,  every  fool  and  knave 
Be  graced  through  life,  and  flatter'd  in  his  grave. 

F.  Why  so  ?  if  Satire  knows  its  time  and  place 
You  still  may  lash  the  greatest — in  disgrace: 
For  merit  will  by  turns  forsake  them  all ; 
Would  you  know  when  ?  exactly  when  they  fall. 
But  let  all  satire  in  all  changes  spare 

Immortal  S — k,  and  grave  D re.2 

Silent  and  soft,  as  saints  remove  to  heaven, 

All  ties  dissolved,  and  every  sin  forgiven, 

These  may  some  gentle  ministerial  whig 

Receive,  and  place  for  ever  near  a  king  ! 

There,  where  no  passion,  pride,  or  shame  transport, 

Lull'd  with  the  sweet  Nepenthe  of  a  court ; 

There,  where  no  father's,  brother's,  friend's  disgrace 

Once  break  their  rest,  or  stir  them  from  their  place : 

But  past  the  sense  of  human  miseries, 

All  tears  are  wiped  for  ever  from  all  eyes ; 

No  cheek  is  known  to  blush,  no  heart  to  throb, 

Save  when  they  lose  a  question,  or  a  job. 

P.  Good  heaven  forbid  that  I  should  blast  their  glory, 
Who  know  how  like  Whig  Ministers  to  Tory, 
And  when  three  sovereigns  died,  could  scarce  be  vext, 
Considering  what  a  gracious  prince  was  next. 
Have  I,  in  silent  wonder,  seen  such  things 

And  at  a  peer,  or  peeress,  shall  I  fret, 
Who  starves  a  sister,  or  forswears  a  debt  1 
Virtue,  I  grant  you,  is  an  empty  boast; 
But  shall  the  dignity  of  Vice  be  lost  ? 
Ye  gods  !  shall  Gibber's  son,3  without  rebuke, 
Swear  like  a  lord,  or  Rich3  outwhore  a  duke  ? 

1  Queen  consort  to  King  George  II.    She  died  in  1737.     Her  death 
gave  occasion,  as  is  observed  above,  to  many  indiscreet  and  mean  per- 
formances unworthy  of  her  memory. 

2  A  title  given  to  that  lord  by  King  James  II.     He  was  of  the  Bed- 
chamber to  King  William ;  he  was  so  to  King  George  I. ;  he  was  so  to 
King  George  II.     His  lordship  was  very  skilful  in  all  the  forms  of  the 
House,  which  he  discharged  with  great  gravity. 

3  Two  players. 
32 


358  EPILOGUE   TO   THE  SATIRES. 

A  Favourite's  porter  with  his  master  vie, 

Be  bribed  as  often,  and  as  often  lie  1 

Shall  Ward  draw  contracts  with  a  statesman's  skill  ? 

Or  Japhet  pocket,  like  his  Grace,  a  will  ? 

Is  it  for  Bond  or  Peter  (paltry  things) 

To  pay  their  debts,  or  keep  their  faith,  like  kings? 

If  Blount1  dispatch'd  himself,  he  play'd  the  man, 

And  so  may'st  thou,  illustrious  Passeran  ! 

But  shall  a  printer,2  weary  of  his  life, 

Learn  from  their  books,  to  hang  himself  and  wife  ? 

This,  this,  my  friend,  I  cannot,  must  not  bear; 

Vice,  thus  abused,  demands  a  nation's  care : 

This  calls  the  church  to  deprecate  our  sin, 

And  hurls  the  thunder  of  the  laws  on  gin.3 

Let  modest  FOSTER,  if  he  will,  excel 
Ten  metropolitans  in  preaching  well; 
A  simple  quaker,  or  a  quaker's  wife, 
Outdo  Llandaff  in  doctrine, — yea  in  life : 
Let  humble  ALLEN,  with  an  awkward  shame, 
Do  good  by  stealth,  and  blush  to  find  it  fame. 
Virtue  may  choose  the  high  or  low  degree, 
'Tis  just  alike  to  Virtue,  and  to  me ; 
Dwell  in  a  monk,  or  light  upon  a  king, 
She's  still  the  same,  beloved,  contented  thing. 
Vice  is  undone,  if  she  forgets  her  birth, 
And  stoops  from  angels  to  the  dregs  of  earth : 
But  'tis  the  fall  degrades  her  to  a  whore ; 
Let  Greatness  OWN  HER,  and  she's  mean  no  more : 
Her  birth,  her  beauty,  crowds  and  courts  confess, 
Chaste  matrons  praise  her,  and  grave  bishops  bless; 
In  golden  chains  the  willing  world  she  draws, 
And  hers  the  gospel  is,  and  hers  the  laws ; 
Mounts  the  tribunal,  lifts  her  scarlet  head, 
And  sees  pale  Virtue  carted  in  her  stead. 
Lo  !  at  the  wheels  of  her  triumphal  car, 
Old  England's  genius,  rough  with  many  a  scar, 

1  Author  of  an  impious  foolish  book  called  The  Oracles  of  Reason, 
who  being  in  love  with  a  near  kinswoman,  and  rejected,  gave  himself 
a  stab  in  the  arm,  as  pretending  to  kill  himself,  of  the  consequence 
of  which  he  really  died. 

2  A  fact  that  happened  in  London  a  few  years  previous.    The  unhappy 
man  left  behind  him  a  paper  justifying  his  action  by  the  reasonings  of 
some  of  these  authors. 

3  The  exorbitant  use  of  this  spirit  had  created  such  great  mischief  to 
the  lowest  rank  of  the  people,  that  the  sale  of  it  was  restrained  by  an 
act  of  parliament  in  1786. 


EPILOGUE   TO   THE   SATIRES.  359 

Dragg'd  in  the  dust !  his  arms  hang  idly  round, 

His  flag  inverted  trails  along  the  ground  ! 

Our  youth,  all  liveried  o'er  with  foreign  gold, 

Before  her  dance:  behind  her,  crawl  the  old ! 

See  thronging  millions  to  the  pagod  run, 

And  offer  country,  parent,  wife,  or  son  ! 

Hear  her  black  trumpet  through  the  land  proclaim 

That  NOT  TO  BE  CORRUPTED  is  THE  SHAME. 

In  soldier,  churchman,  patriot,  man  in  power, 

Tis  avarice  all,  ambition  is  no  more  ! 

See  all  our  nobles  begging  to  be  slaves  ! 

See  all  our  fools  aspiring  to  be  knaves  ! 

The  wit  of  cheats,  the  courage  of  a  whore, 

Are  what  ten  thousand  envy  and  adore : 

All,  all  look  up,  with  reverential  awe, 

At  crimes  that  'scape,  or  triumph  o'er  the  law: 

While  truth,  worth,  wisdom,  daily  they  decry— 

"  Nothing  is  sacred  now  but  villany." 

Yet  may  this  verse  (if  such  a  verse  remain) 
Show  there  was  one  who  held  it  in  disdain. 


DIALOGUE  II. 

FR.  'Tis  all  a  libel — Paxton  (Sir)  will  say. 

P.  Not  yet,  my  friend  !  to-morrow  'faith  it  may ; 
And  for  that  very  cause  I  print  to-day. 
How  should  I  fret  to  mangle  every  line, 
In  reverence  to  the  sins  of  Thirty-nine? 

Vice  with  such  giant  strides  comes  on  amain, 
Invention  strives  to  be  before  in  vain; 
Feign  what  I  will,  and  paint  it  e'er  so  strong, 
Some  rising  genius  sins  up  to  my  song. 

F.  Yet  none  but  you  by  name  the  guilty  lash; 
Even  Guthry1  saves  half  Newgate  by  a  dash. 
Spare  then  the  person,  and  expose  the  vice. 

P.  How,  Sir  !  not  damn  the  sharper,  but  the  dice  ? 
Come  on,  then,  Satire  !  general,  unconfmed, 
Spread  thy  broad  wing,  and  soxise  on  all  the  kind. 
Ye  statesmen,  priests,  of  one  religion  all ! 
Ye  tradesmen  vile,  in  army,  court,  or  hall ! 

1  The  Ordinary  of  Newgate,  who  at  that  time  published  the  memoirs 
Of  the  malefactors,  and  was  prevailed  upon  to  be  so  tender  of  their 
reputation,  as  to  set  down  no  more  than  the  initials  of  their  name. 


360  EPILOGUE   TO   THE   SATIRES. 

Ye  reverend  atheists. — F.  Scandal !  name  them.    Who  1 

P.  Why  that's  the  thing  you  bid  me  not  to  do. 
Who  starved  a  sister,  who  forswore  a  debt, 
I  never  named ;  the  town's  inquiring  yet.  [do. 

The  poisoning  dame — F.  You  mean — P.  I  don't — F.  You 

P.  See.  now  I  keep  the  secret,  and  not  you  ! 
The  bribing  statesman — F.  Hold,  too  high  you  go. 

P.  The  bribed  elector — F.  There  you  stoop  too  low. 

P.  I  fain  would  please  you,  if  I  knew  with  what ; 
Tell  me  which  knave  is  lawful  game,  which  not. 
Must  great  offenders,  once  escaped  the  crown, 
Like  royal  harts,  be  never  more  run  down  ? 
Admit  your  law  to  spare  the  knight  requires, 
As  beasts  of  nature,  may  we  hunt  the  squires  ? 
Suppose  I  censure — you  know  what  I  mean — 
To  save  a  Bishop,  may  I  name  a  Dean  ? 

F.  A  Dean,  Sir  1    No :  his  fortune  is  not  made, 
You  hurt  a  man  that's  rising  in  the  trade. 

P.  If  not  the  tradesman  who  set  up  to-day, 
Much  less  the  'prentice  who  to-morrow  may. 
Down,  down,  proud  Satire !  though  a  realm  be  spoil'd, 
Arraign  no  mightier  thief  than  wretched  Wild;1 
Or,  if  a  court  or  country's  made  a  job, 
Go  drench  a  pickpocket,  and  join  the  mob. 

But,  Sir,  [  beg  you,  (for  the  love  of  vice  !) 
The  matter's  weighty,  pray  consider  twice ; 
Have  you  less  pity  for  the  needy  cheat, 
The  poor  and  friendless  villain,  than  the  great  ? 
Alas  !  the  small  discredit  of  a  bribe 
Scarce  hurts  the  lawyer,  but  undoes  the  scribe. 
Then  better  sure  it  charity  becomes 
To  tax  Directors,  who  (thank  God)  have  plums; 
Still  better,  Ministers ;  or  if  the  thing 
May  pinch  even  there — why  lay  it  on  a  king. 

F.  Stop!  stop! 

P.  Must  Satire,  then,  not  rise  nor  fall  ? 
Speak  out,  and  bid  me  blame  no  rogues  at  all. 

F.  Yes,  strike  that  Wild,  I'll  justify  the  blow. 

P   Strike  !  why  the  man  was  hang'd  ten  years  ago : 
Who  now  that  obsolete  example  fears  ? 
Even  Peter  trembles  only  for  his  ears.2 

1  Jonathan  Wild,  a  famous  thief  and  informer,  who  was  at  last 
caught  in  his  own  toils,  and  hanged. 

2  Peter  had,  the  year  before  this,  narrowly  escaped  the  pillory  for 
forgery;  and  got  off  with  a  severe  rebuke  only  from  the  bench. 


EPILOGUE   TO    THE   SATIRES.  361 

F.  What,  always  Peter?    Peter  thinks  you  mad, 
You  make  men  desperate  if  they  once  are  bad: 
Else  might  he  take  to  virtue  some  years  hence — 

P.  As  S — k,  if  he  lives,  will  love  the  PRINCE. 

F.  Strange  spleen  to  S— k  ! 

P.  Do  I  wronj  the  mau  ? 
God  knows,  I  praise  a  courtier  where  I  can. 
When  I  confess,  there  is  who  feels  for  fame, 
And  melts  to  goodness,  need  I  SCARBOROUGH  name  I1 
Pleased  let  me  own,  in  Esher's  peaceful  grove,2 
(Where  Kent  and  nature  vie  for  PELHASI'S  love,) 
The  scene,  the  master,  opening  to  my  view, 
I  sit  and  dream  I  see  my  CRAGQS  anew ! 

Even  in  a  bishop  I  can  spy  desert ; 
Seeker  is  decent,  Rundel  has  a  heart : 
Manners  with  candour  are  to  Benson  given, 
To  Berkeley,  every  virtue  under  heaven. 

But  does  the  court  a  worthy  man  remove  ? 
That  instant,  I  declare,  he  has  my  love: 
I  shun  his  zenith,  court  his  mild  decline ; 
Thus  SoMERS3  once,  and  HALIFAX,*  were  mine. 
Oft,  in  the  clear,  still  mirror  of  retreat, 
I  studied  SHREWSBURY,*  the  wise  and  great: 
CARLETON's6    calm    sense,    and    STANHOPE'S'    noble 

flame, 

Compared,  and  knew  their  gen'rous  end  the  same: 
How  pleasing  ATTERBURY'S  softer  hour ! 
How  shined  the  soul,  unconquer'd  in  the  Tower ! 
How  can  I  PULTENEY,  CHESTERFIELD  forget, 
While  Roman  spirit  charms,  and  Attic  wit  ? 

1  Earl  of,  whose  personal  attachment  to  the  king  appeared  from  his 
steady  adherence  to  the  royal  interest,  and  his  known  honour  and  virtue 
made  him  esteemed  by  all  parties. 

3  The  house  and  gardens  of  Esher,  in  Surrey,  belonging  to  the 
Honourable  Mr.  Pelham,  brother  of  the  Duke  of  Newcastle. 

3  John  Lord  Somers  died  in  1716.  A  faithful,  able,  and  incorrupt 
Minister,  who,  to  qualities  of  a  consummate  statesman,  added  those  of 
a  man  of  learning  and  politeness. 

*    4  A  peer  no  less  distinguished  by  liis  love  of  letters  than  his  abilities 
in  parliament. 

5  Charles  Talbot,  Duke  of  Shrewsbury.     He  sever*!  times  quitted  his 
employments,  and  was  often  recalled.     He  died  in  1718. 

6  Hen.  Boyle,  Lord  Carleton,  President  of  the  Council  under  Queen 
Anne. 

7  James,  Earl  of  Stanhope.    A  nobleman  of  equal  courage,  spirit, 
and  learning. 

32* 


362  EPILOGUE    TO    THE    SATIRES. 

ARGVLT,,  the  state's  whole  thunder  born  to  wield, 

And  shake  alike  the  senate  and  the  field  ? 

Or  WYNDHAM,'  just  tof  reedom  and  the  throne, 

The  master  of  our  passions,  and  his  own  ? 

Names,  which  I  long  have  loved,  nor  loved  in  vain, 

Rank'd  with  their  friends,  not  number'd  with  their  train 

And  if  yet  higher  the  proud  list  should  end, 

Still  let  me  say  !  No  follower,  but  a  friend. 

Yet  think  not  friendship  only  prompts  my  lays; 
I  follow  Virtue :  where  she  shines,  I  praise : 
Point  she  to  Priest  or  Elder,  Whig  or  Tory, 
Or  round  a  Quaker's  beaver  cast  a  glory. 
I  never  (to  my  sorrow  I  declare) 
Dined  with  the  MAN  of  Ross,  or  my  LORD  MAYOR. 
Some,  in  their  choice  of  friends  (nay,  look  not  grave) 
Have  still  a  secret  bias  to  a  knave : 
To  find  an  honest  man  I  beat  about, 
And  love  him,  court  him,  praise  him,  in  or  out. 

F.  Then  why  so  few  commended  1 

P.  Not  so  fierce; 

Find  you  the  virtue,  and  I'll  find  the  verse. 
But  random  praise — the  task  can  ne'er  be  done ; 
Each  mother  asks  it  for  her  booby  son, 
Each  widow  asks  it  for  the  best  of  men, 
For  him  she  weeps,  for  him  she  weds  again. 
Praise  cannot  stoop,  like  Satire,  to  the  ground ; 
The  number  may  be  hang'd,  but  not  be  crown'd. 
Enough  for  half  the  greatest  of  these  days, 
To  'scape  my  censure,  not  expect  iny  praise. 
Are  they  not  rich  ?  what  more  can  they  pretend  ? 
Dare  they  to  hope  a  poet  for  their  friend  ? 
What  RICHELIEU  wanted,  Louis  scarce  could  gain, 
And  what  young  AMMOK  wish'd,  but  wish'd  in  vain. 
No  power  the  muse's  friendship  can  command ; 
No  power  when  virtue  claims  it,  can  withstand : 
To  Cato,  Virgil  paid  one  honest  line : 

0  let  my  country's  friends  illumine  mine ! 

—What  are  you  thinking  ?     F.  Faith,  the  thought's  no 

1  think  your  friends  are  out,  and  would  be  in.          [sin, 

1  Sir  William  Wyndham,  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  under  Queen 
Anne,  made  early  a  considerable  figure ;  but  afterwards  a  much  greater 
both  by  his  ability  and  eloquence,  joined  with  the  utmost  judgment  and 
temper. 


EPILOGUE   TO    THE   SATIRES.  363 

P.  If  merely  to  come  in,  sir,  they  go  out, 
The  way  they  take  is  strangely  roundabout. 

F.  They  too  may  be  corrupted,  you'll  allow  ? 

P.  I  only  call  those  knaves  who  are  so  now. 
Is  that  too  little  ?     Come,  then,  I'll  comply — 
Spirit  of  ARNALL  !  aid  me  while  I  lie. 
COBHAM'S  a  coward,  PoLWARTH1  is  a  slave, 
And  LYTTELTON  a  dark  designing  knave ; 
ST.  JOHN  has  ever  been  a  wealthy  tool — 
But  let  me  add,  SIR  ROBERT'S  mighty  dull, 
Has  never  made  a  friend  in  private  life, 
And  was,  besides,  a  tyrant  to  his  wife. 

But  pray,  when  others  praise  him,  do  I  blame  ? 
Call  Verres,  Wolsey,  any  odious  name  ? 
Why  rail  they  tken,  if  but  a  wreath  of  mine, 

0  all-accomplish'd  ST.  JOHN  !  deck  thy  shrine  ? 
"What !  shall  each  spur-gall'd  hackney  of  the  day, 

When  Paxton  gives  him  double  pots  and  pay, 
Or  each  new-pension'd  sycophant,  pretend 
To  break  my  windows  if  I  treat  a  friend ; 
Then  wisely  plead,  to  me  they  meant  no  hurt, 
But  'twas  my  guest  at  whom  they  threw  the  dirt  T 
Sure,  if  I  spare  the  Minister,  no  rules 
Of  honour  bind  me,  not  to  maul  his  tools; 
Sure,  if  they  cannot  cut,  it  may  be  said 
His  saws  are  toothless,  and  his  hatchet's  lead. 

It  anger'd  TURENNE,  once  upon  a  day, 
To  see  a  footman  kick'd  that  took  his  pay: 
But  when  he  heard  the  affront  the  fellow  gave, 
Knew  one  a  man  of  honour,  one  a  knave ; 
The  prudent  general  turn'd  it  to  a  jest, 
And  begg'd  he'd  take  the  pains  to  kick  the  rest: 
Which  not  at  present  having  time  to  do [you  1 

F.  Hold,  Sir  I  for  God's  sake,  where's  the  affront  to 
Against  your  worship  when  had  Sherlock  writ  ? 
Or  Page  pour'd  forth  the  torrent  of  his  wit  ? 
Or  grant  the  bard,  whose  distich  all  commend, 
[In  power  a  servant,  out  of  power  a  friend,] 
To  Walpole  guilty  of  some  venial  sin ; 
What's  that  to  you,  who  ne'er  was  out  nor  in  ? 

1  The  Hon.  Hugh  Hume,  son  of  Alexander,  Earl  of  Marchmont,  dis- 
tinguished in  the  cause  of  liberty. 


364  EPILOGUE    TO   THE   SATIRES. 

The  priest  whose  flattery  be-dropp'd  the  crown, 
How  hurt  he  you  ?  he  only  staiu'd  the  gown. 
And  how  did,  pray,  the  florid  youth  offend, 
Whose  speech  you  took,  and  gave  it  to  a  friend  ? 

P.  Faith,  it  imports  not  much  from  whom  it  came; 
Whoever  borrow'd  could  not  be  to  blame, 
Since  the  whole  House  did  afterwards  the  same. 
Let  courtly  wits  to  wits  afford  supply, 
As  hog  to  hog  in  huts  of  Westphaly ; 
If  one,  through  Nature's  bounty  or  his  lord's, 
Has  what  the  frugal  dirty  soil  affords, 
From  him  the  next  receives  it,  thick  or  thin, 
As  pure  a  mess  almost  as  it  came  in ; 
The  blessed  benefit,  not  there  confined, 
Drops  to  the  third,  who  nuzzles  close  behind ; 
From  tail  to  mouth  they  feed  and  they  carouse: 
The  last  full  fairly  gives  it  to  the  House. 

F.  This  filthy  simile,  this  beastly  line, 

Quite  turns  my  stomach 

P.  So  does  flattery  mine; 
And  all  your  courtly  civet-cats  can  vent, 
Perfume  to  you,  to  me  is  excrement. 
But  hear  me  further — Japhet,  'tis  agreed, 
Writ  not,  and  Chartres  scarce  could  write  or  read ; 
In  all  the  courts  of  Pindus  guiltless  quite ; 
But  pens  can  forge,  my  friend,  that  cannot  write ; 
And  must  no  egg  in  .1  aphet's  face  be  thrown, 
Because  the  deed  he  forged  was  not  my  own  1 
Must  never  patriot,  then,  declaim  at  gin, 
Unless,  good  man !  he  has  been  fairly  in  ? 
No  zealous  pastor  blame  a  failing  spouse, 
Without  a  staring  reason  on  his  brows  ? 
And  each  blasphemer  quite  escape  the  rod, 
Because  the  insult's  not  on  man,  but  God  ? 
Aek  you  what  provocation  I  have  had  ? 
The  strong  antipathy  of  good  to  bad. 
When  truth  or  virtue  an  affront  endures, 
The  affront  is  mine,  my  friend,  and  should  be  yours. 
Mine,  as  a  foe  profess'd  to  false  pretence, 
Who  think  a  coxcomb's  honour  like  his  sense; 
Mine,  as  a  friend  to  every  worthy  mind ; 
And  mine  as  man,  who  feel  for  all  mankind. 

F.  You're  strangely  proud. 


EPILOGUE  TO  THE  SATIRES.  365 

So  impudent,  I  own  myself  fo  fnTe^'  *  ^  U°  d*761 
So  odd,  my  country's  ruin  makes  me  grave. 
Yes,  I  am  proud ;  I  must  be  proud  to  see 
Men,  not  afraid  of  God,  afraid  of  me- 
Safe  from  the  bar,  the  pulpit,  and  the  throne, 
Yet  touched  and  shamed  by  ridicule  alone. 
O  sacred  weapon!  left  for  truth's  defence 
bole  dread  of  folly,  vice,  and  insolence ! 
To  all  but  Heaven-directed  hands  denied. 
The  muse  may  give  thee,  but  the  gods  must  guide- 
Reverent  I  touch  thee  !  but  with  honest  zeal- 
lo  rouse  the  watchman  of  the  public  weal 
To  virtue's  work  provoke  the  tardy  hall 
And  goad  the  prelate  slumbering  in  his  stall. 
Ye  tinsel  insects  !  whom  a  court  maintains 
That  counts  your  beauties  only  by  your  stains 
bpm  all  your  cobwebs  o'er  the  eye  of  day! 
The  MUSE'S  wing  shall  brush  you  all  away: 
All  his  grace  preaches,  all  his  lordship  sings, 
All  that  makes  saints  of  queens,  and  gods  of  kimns' 
All,  all  but  truth,  drops  dead-born  from  the  presl ' 
Like  the  last  gazette,  or  the  last  address. 

When  black  ambition  stains  a  public  cause, 
A  monarch's  sword  when  mad  vain-glory  draws. 
Not  Waller's  wreath  can  hide  the  nation's  scar, 
Nor  Boileau  turn  the  feather  to  a  star. 

Not  so,  when  diadem'cl  with  rays  divine 
Touch'd  with  the  flame  that  breaks  from  Virtue's  shrine 
Her  priestess  Muse  forbids  the  good  to  die 
And  opes  the  temple  of  Eternity. 
There,  other  trophies  deck  the  truly  brave, 
Than  such  as  ANSTIS*  casts  into  the  grave- 
Far  other  stars  than  *  and  **  wear, 
And  may  descend  to  Mordington  from  STAIR  -3 
(Such  as  on  Houon's3  unsullied  mitre  shine 
Or  beam,  good  DIGBY,  from  a  heart  like  thine;) 

1  The  chief  herald  at  arms.    It  is  the  custom,  at  the  funeral  of  great 
men  to  cast  into  the  grave  the  broken  staves  and  ensigns  of  honour. 

D-JS'MX!^*"1  °f  ^  ^  *  *  °»  ™*  ™«e*  the 

3  Dr.  John  Hough,  Bishop  of  Worcester,  and  the  Lord  Digby:  the 

one  an  assertor  of  the  church  of  England,  in  opposition  to  the  false 


366        ON   RECEIVING  A  STANDISH   AND   TWO   PENS. 

Let  Envy  howl,  while  heaven's  whole  chorus  sings, 
And  bark  at  honour  not  conterr'd  by  kings ; 
Let  Flattery  sickening  see  the  incense  rise, 
Sweet  to  the  world,  and  grateful  to  the  skies: 
Truth  guards  the  poet,  sanctifies  the  line, 
And  makes  immortal,  verse  as  mean  as  mine. 

Yes,  the  last  pen  for  freedom  let  me  draw, 
"When  Truth  stands  trembling  on  the  edge  of  law; 
Here,  last  of  Britons !  let  your  names  be  read ; 
Are  none,  none  living  ?  let  me  praise  the  dead, 
And  for  that  cause  which  made  your  fathers  shine, 
Fall  by  the  votes  of  their  degenerate  line. 

F.  Alas  !  alas  !  pray  end  what  you  began, 
And  write  next  winter  more  Essays  on  Man.1 


LINES   ON  RECEIVING  PROM  THE 

ET.  HON.  THE  LADY  FEANCES  SHIRLEY 

A  STANDISH  AND  TWO  FENS. 

YES,  I  beheld  the  Athenian  queen 

Descend  in  all  her  sober  charms ; 
"  And  take"  (she  said,  and  smiled  serene) 

"  Take  at  this  hand  celestial  arms: 

"  Secure  the  radiant  weapons  wield ; 

This  golden  lance  shall  guard  desert, 
And  if  a  vice  dares  keep  the  field, 

This  steel  shall  stab  it  to  the  heart." 

measures  of  King  James  II. ;  the  other  as  firmly  attached  to  the  cause 
of  that  king ;  both  acting  oat  of  principle,  and  equally  men  of  honour 
and  virtue. 

1  This  was  the  last  poem  of  the  kind  printed  by  our  author,  -with  a 
resolution  to  publish  no  more,  but  to  enter  thus,  in  the  most  plain  and 
solemn  manner  he  could,  a  sort  of  PROTEST  against  that  insuperable 
corruption  and  depravity  of  manners  which  he  had  been  so  unhappy  as 
to  live  to  see.  Could  he  have  hoped  to  have  amended  any,  he  had 
continued  those  attacks ;  but  bad  men  were  grown  so  shameless  and 
so  powerful,  that  ridicule  was  become  as  unsafe  as  it  was  ineffectual.  The 
poem  raised  him,  as  he  knew  it  would,  some  enemies :  but  he  had  reason 
to  be  satisfied  with  the  approbation  of  good  men,  and  the  testimony  of 
his  own  conscience. 


TO   THE   AUTHOR   OP    "  SUCCESSIO."  367 

Awed,  on  my  bended  knees  I  fell, 

Received  the  weapons  of  the  sky ; 
And  dipt  them  in  the  sable  well, 

The  fount  of  fame  or  infamy. 

"  What  well  ?  what  -weapon  /"'  (Flavia  cries) 

"  A  standish,  steel  and  golden  pen  ! 
It  came  from  Bertrand's,  not  the  skies; 

I  gave  it  you  to  write  again. 

"But,  friend,  take  heed  v.-hom  you  attack; 

You'll  bring  a  house  (I  mean  of  peers) 
Bed,  blue,  and  green,  nay  white  and  black, 

L- and  all  about  your  ears. 

u  You'd  write  as  smooth  again  on  glass, 

And  run,  on  ivory,  so  glib, 
As  not  to  stick  at  fool  or  ass, 

Nor  stop  at  flattery  or  fib. 

"Athenian  queen!  and  sober  charms! 

I  tell  ye,  fool,  there's  nothing  in't : 
Tis  Venus,  Venus  gives  these  arms; 

In  Dryden's  Virgil  see  the  print. 

"  Come,  if  you'll  be  a  quiet  soul, 

That  dares  tell  neither  truth  nor  lies, 

I'll  list  you  in  the  harmless  roll 

Of  those  that  sing  of  these  poor  eyes." 


THE  AUTHOR  OF  A  POEM  ENTITLED 
"  SUCCESSIO," 

[ELKANAH     SETTLE.] 

BEGONE,  ye  critics !  and  restrain  your  spite, 
Codrus  writes  on,  and  will  for  ever  write: 
The  heaviest  muse  the  swiftest  course  has  gone, 
As  clocks  run  fastest  when  most  lead  is  on. 
What  though  no  bees  around  your  cradle  flew, 
Nor  on  your  lips  distill'd  their  golden  dew  ] 
Yet  have  we  oft  discover'd  in  their  stead 
A  swarm  of  drones  that  buzz'd  about  your  head. 


368  A   FRAGMENT   OP  A   POESf. 

When  you,  like  Orpheus,  strike  the  warbling  lyre, 

Attentive  blocks  stand  round  you  and  admire. 

Wit  pass'd  through  thee  no  longer  is  the  same, 

As  meat  digested  takes  a  different  name ; 

But  sense  must  sure  thy  safest  plunder  be, 

Since  no  reprisals  can  be  made  on  thee. 

Thus  thou  may'st  rise,  and  in  thy  daring  flight 

(Tho'  ne'er  so  weighty)  reach  a  wondrous  height : 

So  forced  from  engines,  lead  itself  can  fly, 

And  ponderous  slugs  move  nimbly  through  the  sky. 

Sure  Bavius  copied  Maevius  to  the  full, 

And  Choerilus  taught  Codrus  to  be  dull ; 

Therefore,  dear  friend,  at  my  advice  give  o'er 

This  needless  labour ;  and  contend  no  more 

To  prove  a  dull  succession  to  be  true, 

Since  'tis  enough  we  find  it  so  in  you. 


1740. 

A  FRAGMENT  OF  A  POEM. 

O  WRETCHED  B !  jealous  now  of  all, 

What  God,  what  mortal,  shall  prevent  thy  fall  1 
Turn,  turn  thy  eyes  from  wicked  men  in  place, 
And  see  what  succour  from  the  patriot  race. 

C ,  his  own  proud  dupe,  thinks  monarchs  things 

Made  just  for  him,  as  other  fools  for  kings; 
Controls,  decides,  insults  thee  every  hour, 
And  antedates  the  hatred  due  to  power. 

Thro'  clouds  of  passion  P 's  views  are  clear, 

He  foams  a  patriot  to  subside  a  peer ; 
Impatient  sees  his  country  bought  and  sold, 
And  damns  the  market  where  he  takes  no  gold. 

Grave,  righteous  S jogs  on,  till,  past  belief, 

He  finds  himself  companion  with  a  thief. 

To  purge  and  let  thee  blood,  with  fire  and  sword, 
Is  all  the  help  stern  S would  afford. 

That  those  who  bind  and  rob  thee,  would  not  kill, 
Good  C hopes,  and  candidly  sits  still. 

Of  Ch— s  W who  speaks  at  all, 

No  more  than  of  Sir  Harry  or  Sir  Paul  ? 

Whose  names  once  up,  they  thought  it  was  not  wrong 

To  lie  in  bed,  but  sure  they  lay  too  long. 


A  FRAGMENT  OP  A   POEM.  3G9 

G r,  C m,  B 1,  pay  thee  due  regards, 

Unless  the  ladies  bid  them  mind  their  cards, 
with  wit  that  must 

And  C d,  who  speaks  so  well  and  writes, 

Whom  (saving  W.)  every  S.  harper  bites. 

must  needs 

Whose  wit  and  equally  provoke  one, 

Finds  thee,  at  best,  the  butt  to  crack  his  joke  on. 

As  ior  the  rest,  each  winter  up  they  run, 
And  all  are  clear,  that  something  must  be  done. 

Then  urged  by  C 1,  or  by  C 1  stopp'd, 

Inflamed  by  P ,  and  by  P dropp'd ; 

They  follow  reverently  each  wondrous  wight, 
Amazed  that  one  can  read,  that  one  can  write : 
So  geese  to  gander  prone  obedience  keep, 
Hiss  if  he  hiss,  and  if  he  slumber,  sleep. 
Till  having  done  whate'er  was  fit  or  fine, 
Utter'd  a  speech,  and  ask'd  their  friends  to  dine ; 
Each  hurries  back  to  his  paternal  ground, 
Content  but  for  five  shillings  in  the  pound ; 
Yearly  defeated,  yearly  hopes  they  give, 
And  all  agree,  Sir  Robert  cannot  live. 

Eise,  rise,  great  W ,  fated  to  appear, 

Spite  of  thyself,  a  glorious  minister ! 
Speak  the  loud  language  princes  .... 

And  treat  with  half  the 

At  length  to  B kind,  as  to  thy  .... 

Espouse  the  nation,  you 

What  can  thy  H 

Dress  in  Dutch ,  .  .  . 

Though  still  he  travels  on  no  bad  pretence, 
To  show 

Or  those  foul  copies  of  thy  face  and  tongue, 

Veracious  W and  frontless  Young ; 

Sagacious  Bub,  so  late  a  friend,  and  there 

So  late  a  foe,  yet  more  sagacious  H ? 

Hervey  and  Hervey's  school,  F — ,  II y,  H n, 

Yea,  moral  Ebor,  or  religious  Wiuton. 

How!  what  can  O w,  what  can  D— 

The  wisdom  of  the  one  and  other  chair, 

N laugh,  or  D 's  sager, 

Or  thy  dreaJ  truncheon,  M.'s  mighty  peer! 

What  help  from  J 's  opiates  canst  thou  draw, 

Or  H k's  quibbles  voted  into  law? 

33 


370  A  FRAGMENT  OF  A  POEM. 

C.,  that  Roman  in  his  nose  alone, 

Who  hears  all  causes,  B ,  but  thy  own, 

Or  those  proud  fools  whom  nature,  rank,  and  fate 
Made  fit  companions  for  the  sword  of  state. 

Can  the  light  packhorse,  or  the  heavy  steer, 
The  sowzing  prelate,  or  the  sweating  peer, 
Drag  out  with  all  its  dirt  and  all  its  weight, 
The  lumbering  carriage  oi  thy  broken  state  ] 
Alas!  the  people  curse,  the  carman  swears, 
The  drivers  quarrel,  and  the  master  stares. 

The  plague  is  on  thee,  Britain,  and  who  tries 
To  save  thee  in  the  infectious  office  dies. 

The  first  firm  P y  soon  resign'd  his  breath, 

Brave  S w  loved  thee,  and  was  lied  to  death. 

Good  M — m — t's  fate  tore  P th  from  thy  side, 

And  thy  last  sigh  was  heard  when  W m  died. 

Thy  nobles  si — s,  thy  se — s  bought  with  gold, 
Thy  clergy  perjured,  thy  whole  people  sold. 

An  atheist  «  a  ®""s  ad 

Blotch  thee  all  o'er,  and  sink  .  .  . 

Alas !  on  one  alone  our  all  relies, 
Let  him  be  honest,  and  he  must  be  wise ; 
Let  him  no  trifier  from  his  school, 

Nor  like  his still  a  .... 

Be  but  a  man !  unminister'd,  alone, 

And  free  at  once  the  senate  and  the  throne; 

Esteem  the  public  love  his  best  supply, 

A  ©'s  true  glory  his  integrity; 

Rich  with  his  ....  in  his  .  .  .  strong, 

Affect  no  conquest,  but  endure  no  wrong. 

Whatever  his  religion  or  his  blood, 

His  public  virtue  makes  his  title  good. 

Europe's  just  balance  and  our  own  may  stand, 

And  one  man's  honesty  redeem  the  land. 


371 


THE   DUNCIAD,1 

IN  FOUR  BOOKS. 

x 

PRINTED  ACCORDING  TO  THE  COMPLETE    COPY    FOUND    IN  THE  TEAS 
1742;    VflTU  THE   PROLEGOMENA  OF  SCK1BLEKUS,   AND  NOTES. 


Tandem  Pfutbtu  adest,  morsnsqne  inferre  parantem 
Congelat,  et  patulos,  ut  erant,  indurat  hiatus. — OVID. 


ADVERTISEMENT  TO  THE  READER 

I  HAVE  long  had  a  design  of  giving  some  sort  of  notes  on  the  works  of 
this  poet.  Before  I  had  the  happiness  of  his  acquaintance,  I  had 
written  a  commentary  on  his  Ettay  on  Man,  and  have  since  finished 
another  on  the  Ettay  on  Criticitm.  There  was  one  already  on  the 
Dunciad,  which  had  met  with  general  approbation :  but  I  still  thought 
some  additions  were  wanting  (of  a  more  serious  kind)  to  the  humorous 
notes  of  ScriUerus,  and  even  to  those  written  by  Mr.  Cleland,  Dr. 
Arbuthnot,  and  others.  I  had  lately  the  pleasure  to  pass  some  months 
with  the  author  in  the  country,  where  I  prevailed  upon  him  to  do  what 
I  had  long  desired,  and  favour  me  with  his  explanation  of  several  pas- 
sages in  his  works.  It  happened,  that  just  at  that  juncture  was  pub- 
lished a  ridiculous  book  against  him,  full  of  personal  reflections,  which 
furnished  him  with  a  lucky  opportunity  of  improving  thii  poem,  by 
giving  it  the  only  thing  it  wanted,  a  more  considerable  hero,  lie  was 
always  sensible  of  its  defect  in  that  particular,  and  owned  he  had  let  it 
pass  with  the  hero  it  had,  purely  for  want  of  a  better ;  not  entertaining 
the  least  expectation  that  such  an  one  was  reserved  for  this  post,  as 
has  since  obtained  the  laurel:  but  since  that  had  happened,  he  could 
no  longer  deny  this  justice  either  to  him  or  the  Dunciad. 

And  yet  I  will  venture  to  say,  there  was  another  motive  which  had 
still  more  weight  with  our  author:  this  person  was  one,  who  from 
every  folly  (not  to  say  vice)  of  which  another  would  be  ashamed,  has 
constantly  derived  a  vanity:  and  therefore  was  the  man  in  the  rrorld 
who  would  letut  be  hurt  by  it. 

w.  w. 

1  The  Dunciad  is  here  reprinted  from  the  last  and  the  only  complete 
edition  issued  during  the  life  of  the  :>.urlior,  and  approved  by  him  ;  with 
the  sole  addition  of  the  variations  in  the  poem  noticed  by  Warburton 
ill  his  edition  published  after  the  death  of  Pope. 


372  THE  DUNCIAD. 


BY  AUTHORITY. 


BY  VIRTUE  OF  THE  AUTHORITY  IN  US  VESTED  BY  THE  ACT  FOR 
SUBJECTING  POETS  TO  THE  POWER  OF  A  LICENSER,  WE  HAVE  REVISED 
THIS  PIECE;  WHERE,  FINDING  THE  STYLE  AND  APPELLATION  OF  KING 
TO  HAVE  BEEN  GIVEN  TO  A  CERTAIN  PRETENDER,  PSEUDO-POET,  OR 
PHANTOM,  OF  THE  NAME  OF  TIBBALD;  AND  APPREHENDING  THE 
SAME  MAY  BE  DEEMED  IN  SOME  SORT  A  REFLECTION  ON  MAJESTY,  OR 
AT  LEAST  AN  INSULT  ON  THAT  LEGAL  AUTHORITY  WHICH  HAS 
BESTOWED  ON  ANOTHER  PERSON  THE  CROWN  OF  POESY :  WE  HAVE 
ORDERED  THE  SAID  PRETENDER,  PSEUDO-POET,  OR  PHANTOM,  UTTERLY 
TO  VANISH  AND  EVAPORATE  OUT  OF  THIS  WORK:  AND  DO  DECLARE 
THE  SAID  THRONE  OF  POESY  FROM  HENCEFORTH  TO  BE  ABDICATED 
AND  VACANT,  UNLESS  DULY  AND  LAWFULLY  SUPPLIED  BY  THE 
LAUREATE  HIMSELF,  AND  IT  IS  HEREBY  ENACTED,  THAT  NO  OTHER 
PERSON  DO  PRESUME  TO  FILL  THE  SAME. 

OC.  CH. 


MAETINUS  SCEIBLERUS 

HIS  PROLEGOMENA  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS  TO  THE  DUNCIAD :  WITH  THE 
HYPER-CRITICS  OF  ARISTARCHUS, 


A  LETTER  TO  THE  PUBLISHER, 

OCCASIONED  BY   THE  FIRST  CORRECT   EDITION   OF   THE   DUNCIAD. 

IT  is  with  pleasure  I  hear,  that  you  have  procured  a  cor- 
rect copy  of  the  DUNCIAD,  -which  the  many  surreptitious 
ones  have  rendered  so  necessary :  and  it  is  yet  with  more, 
that  I  am  informed  it  will  be  attended  with  a  COMMEN- 
TARY :  a  work  so  requisite,  that  I  cannot  think  the  author 
himself  would  have  omitted  it,  had  he  approved  of  the 
first  appearance  of  this  poem. 

Such  notes  as  have  occurred  to  me  I  herewith  send  you  : 
you  will  oblige  me  by  inserting  them  amongst  those  which 
are,  or  will  be,  transmitted  to  you  by  others ;  since  not  only 
the  author's  friends,  but  even  strangers  appear  engaged 
by  humanity,  to  take  some  care  of  an  orphan  of  so  much 
genius  and  spirit,  which  its  parent  seems  to  have  aban- 


THE  DUKCIAD.  373 

doned  from  the  very  beginning,  and  suffered  to  step  into 
the  world  naked,  unguarded,  and  unattended. 

It  was  upon  reading  some  of  the  abusive  papers  lately 
published,  that  my  great  regard  to  a  person,  whose  friend- 
ship I  esteem  as  one  of  the  chief  honours  of  my  life,  and  a 
much  greater  respect  to  truth,  than  to  him  or  any  man 
living,  engaged  me  in  inquiries,  of  which  the  inclosed 
notes  are  the  fruit. 

I  perceived,  that  most  of  these  authors  had  been  (doubt- 
less very  wisely)  the  first  aggressors.  They  had  tried,  'till 
they  were  weary,  what  was  to  be  got  by  railing  at  each 
other :  nobody  was  either  concerned  or  surprised,  if  this 
or  that  scribbler  was  proved  a  dunce.  But  every  one  was 
curious  to  read  what  could  be  said  to  prove  Mr.  POPE  one, 
and  was  ready  to  pay  something  for  such  a  discovery :  a 
stratagem,  which  would  they  fairly  own,  it  might  not  only 
reconcile  them  to  me,  but  screen  them  from  the  resent- 
ment of  their  lawful  superiors,  whom  they  daily  abuse, 
only  (as  I  charitably  hope)  to  get  that  by  them,  which  they 
cannot  get  from  them. 

I  found  this  was  not  all :  ill  success  in  that  had  trans- 

rrted  them  to  personal  abuse,  either  oi  himself,  or  (what 
think  he  could  less  forgive)  of  his  friends.  They  had 
called  men  of  virtue  and  honour  bad  men,  long  before  he 
had  either  leisure  or  inclination  to  call  them  bad  writers  : 
and  some  had  been  such  old  offenders,  that  he  had  quite 
forgotten  their  persons  as  well  as  their  slanders,  till  they 
were  pleased  to  revive  them. 

Now  what  had  Mr.  POPE  done  before,  to  incense  them  ? 
He  had  published  those  works  which  are  in  the  hands  of 
every  body,  in  which  not  the  least  mention  is  made  of  any 
of  them.  And  what  has  he  done  since?  He  has  laughed, 
and  written  the  DUNCIAD.  What  has  that  said  of  them  ? 
A  very  serious  truth,  which  the  public  had  said  before, 
that  they  were  dull :  and  what  it  had  no  sooner  said,  but 
they  themselves  were  at  great  pains  to  procure  or  even, 
purchase  room  in  the  prints,  to  testify  under  their  hands 
to  the  truth  of  it. 

I  should  still  have  been  silent,  if  either  I  had  seen  any 
inclination  in  my  friend  to  be  serious  with  such  accusers, 
or  if  they  had  only  meddled  with  his  writings ;  since  who- 
ever publishes,  puts  himself  on  his  trial  by  his  country. 
But  when  his  moral  character  was  attacked,  and  in  a 
manner  from  which  neither  truth  nor  virtue  can  secure 
33* 


374  THE  DUtfCIAD. 

the  most  innocent,  in  a  manner,  which,  though  it  anni- 
hilates the  credit  of  the  accusation  with  the  just  and 
impartial,  yet  aggravates  very  much  the  guilt  of  the 
accusers;  I  mean  by  authors  without  names :  then  I  thought, 
since  the  danger  was  common  to  all,  the  concern  ought  to 
be  so ;  and  that  it  was  an  act  of  justice  to  detect  the 
authors,  not  only  on  this  account,  but  as  many  of  them 
are  the  same  who  for  several  years  past  have  made  free 
with  the  greatest  names  in  church  and  state,  exposed  to 
the  world  the  private  misfortunes  of  families,  abused  all, 
even  to  women,  and  whose  prostituted  papers  (for  one  or 
other  party,  in  the  unhappy  divisions  of  their  country) 
have  insulted  the  fallen,  the  friendless,  the  exiled,  and  the 
dead. 

Besides  this,  which  I  take  to  be  a  public  concern,  I 
have  already  confessed  I  had  a  private  one.  I  am  one  of 
that  number  who  have  long  loved  and  esteemed  Mr.  POPE  ; 
and  had  often  declared  it  was  not  his  capacity  or  writings 
(which  we  ever  thought  the  least  valuable  part  of  his 
character)  but  the  honest,  open,  and  beneficent  man,  that 
we  most  esteemed,  and  loved  in  him.  Now,  if  what  these 
people  say  were  believed,  I  must  appear  to  all  my  friends 
either  a  fool,  or  a  knave;  either  imposed  on  myself,  or 
imposing  on  them ;  so  that  I  am  as  much  interested  in  the 
confutation  of  these  calumnies,  as  he  is  himself. 

I  am  no  author,  and  consequently  not  to  be  suspected 
either  of  jealousy  or  resentment  against  any  of  the  men,  of 
whom  scarce  one  is  known  to  me  by  sight ;  and  as  for  their 
writings,  I  have  sought  them  (on  this  one  occasion)  in  vain, 
in  the  closets  and  libraries  of  all  my  acquaintance.  I  had 
still  been  in  the  dark,  if  a  gentleman  had  not  procured  me 
(I  suppose  from  some  of  themselves,  for  they  are  generally 
much  more  dangerous  friends  than  enemies)  the  passages 
I  send  you.  I  solemnly  protest  I  have  added  nothing  to 
the  malice  or  absurdity  of  them ;  which  it  behoves  me  to 
declare,  since  the  vouchers  themselves  will  be  so  soon  and 
so  irrecoverably  lost.  You  may  in  some  measure  prevent 
it,  by  preserving  at  least  their  titles,  and  discovering  (as 
far  as  you  can  depend  on  the  truth  of  your  information) 
the  names  of  the  concealed  authors. 

The  first  objection  I  have  heard  made  to  the  poem  is, 
that  the  persons  are  too  obscure  for  satire.  The  persons 
themselves,  rather  than  allow  the  objection,  would  forgive 
the  satire ;  and  if  one  could  be  tempted  to  afford  it  a  serious 


THE  DUNCIAD.  375 

answer,  were  not  all  assassinates,  popular  insurrections, 
the  insolence  of  the  rabble  without  doors,  and  of  domestics 
within,  most  wrongfully  chastised,  if  the  meanness  of 
offenders  indemnified  them  from  punishment?  On  the 
contrary,  obscurity  renders  them  more  dangerous,  as  less 
thought  of:  law  can  pronounce  judgment  only  on  open 
facts;  morality  alone  can  pass  censure  on  intentions  of 
mischief ;  so  that  for  secret  calumny,  or  the  arrow  flying 
in  the  dark,  there  is  no  public  punishment  left,  but  what  a 
good  writer  inflicts. 

The  next  objection  is,  that  these  sort  of  authors  are 
poor.  That  might  be  pleaded  as  an  excuse  at  the  Old 
Bailey,  for  lesser  crimes  than  defamation,  (for  'tis  the 
case  of  almost  all  who  are  tried  there,)  but  sure  it  can  be 
none :  for  who  will  pretend  that  the  robbing  another  of  his 
reputation  supplies  the  want  of  it  in  himself?  I  question 
not  but  such  authors  are  poor,  and  heartily  wish  the  objec- 
tion were  removed  by  any  honest  livelihood.  But  poverty 
is  here  the  accident,  not  the  subject:  he  who  desctibes 
malice  and  villany  to  be  pale  and  meagre,  expresses  not  the 
least  anger  against  paleness  or  leanness,  but  against  malice 
and  villany.  The  apothecary  in  Borneo  and  Juliet  is  poor; 
but  is  he  therefore  justified  in  vending  poison  ?  Not  but 
poverty  itself  becomes  a  just  subject  of  satire,  when  it  is 
the  consequence  of  vice,  prodigality,  or  neglect  of  one's 
lawful  calling ;  for  then  it  increases  the  public  burden,  fills 
the  streets  and  highways  with  robbers,  and  the  garrets 
with  clippers,  coiners,  and  weekly  journalists. 

But  admitting  that  two  or  three  of  these  offend  less  in 
their  morals,  than  in  their  writings ;  must  poverty  make 
nonsense  sacred  ?  If  so,  the  fame  of  bad  authors  would  be 
much  better  consulted  than  that  of  all  the  good  ones  in  the 
world ;  and  not  one  of  an  hundred  had  ever  been  called  by 
his  right  name. 

They  mistake  the  whole  matter:  It  is  not  charity  to 
encourage  them  in  the  way  they  follow,  but  to  get  them 
out  of  it ;  for  men  are  not  bunglers  because  they  are  poor, 
but  they  are  poor  because  they  are  bunglers. 

Is  it  not  pleasant  enough,  to  hear  our  authors  crying  out 
on  the  one  hand,  as  if  their  persons  and  characters  were  too 
sacred  lor  satire ;  and  the  public  objecting,  on  the  other, 
that  they  are  too  mean  even  for  ridicule  ?  But  whether 
bread  or  fame  be  their  end,  it  must  be  allowed,  our  author, 
by  and  in  this  poem,  has  mercifully  given  them  a  little  of 
both. 


376  THE   DUNCIAD. 

There  are  two  or  three,  who  by  their  rank  and  fortune 
have  no  benefit  from  the  former  objections,  supposing  them 
good,  and  these  I  was  sorry  to  see  in  such  company.  .  But 
if,  without  any  provocation,  two  or  three  gentlemen  will 
fall  upon  one,  in  an  affair  wherein  his  interest  and  reputa- 
tion are  equally  embarked,  they  cannot  certainly,  after  they 
have  been  content  to  print  themselves  his  enemies,  com- 
plain of  being  put  into  the  number  of  them. 

Others,  I  am  told,  pretend  to  have  been  once  his  friends. 
Surely  they  are  their  enemies  who  say  so,  since  nothing  can 
be  more  odious  than  to  treat  a  friend  as  they  have  done. 
But  of  this  I  cannot  persuade  myself,  when  I  consider  the 
constant  and  eternal  aversion  of  all  bad  writers  to  a  good 
one. 

Such  as  claim  a  merit  from  being  his  admirers  I  would 
gladly  ask,  if  it  lays  him  under  a  personal  obligation  ?  At 
that  rate,  he  would  be  the  most  obliged  humble  servant  in 
the  world.  I  dare  swear  for  these  in  particular,  he  never 
desired  them  to  be  his  admirers,  nor  promised  in  return, 
to  be  theirs :  that  had  truly  been  a  sign  he  was  of  their 
acquaintance;  but  would  not  the  malicious  world  have 
suspected  such  an  approbation  of  some  motive  worse  than 
ignorance,  in  the  author  of  the  "  Essay  on  Criticism  ?"  Be 
it  as  it  will,  the  reasons  of  their  admiration  and  of  his  con- 
tempt are  equally  subsisting,  for  his  works  and  theirs  are 
the  very  same  that  they  were. 

One,  therefore,  of  their  assertions  I  believe  may  be  true, 
"  That  he  has  a  contempt  for  their  writings."  And  there 
is  another,  which  would  probably  be  sooner  allowed  by 
himself  than  by  any  good  judge  beside, "  That  his  own  have 
found  too  much  success  with  the  public."  But  as  it  cannot 
consist  with  his  modesty  to  claim  this  as  a  justice,  it  lies 
not  on  him,  but  entirely  on  the  public,  to  defend  its  own 
judgment. 

There  remains  what  in  my  opinion  might  seem  a  better 
plea  for  these  people,  than  any  they  have  made  use  of.  If 
obscurity  or  poverty  were  to  exempt  a  man  from  satire, 
much  more  should  folly  or  dulness,  which  are  still  more 
involuntary ;  nay,  as  much  so  as  personal  deformity.  But 
even  this  will  not  help  them :  deformity  becomes  an  object 
of  ridicule  when  a  man  sets  up  for  being  handsome;  and 
so  must  dulness  when  he  sets  up  for  a  wit.  They  are  not 
ridiculed  because  ridicule  in  itself  .is,  or  ought  to  be,  a 
pleasure ;  but  because  it  is  just  to  undeceive  and  vindicate 


THE  DUNCIAD.  377 

the  honest  and  unpretending  part  of  mankind  from  impo- 
sition, because  particular  interest  ought  to  yield  to  general, 
and,  a  great  number  who  are  not  naturally  fools,  ought 
never  to  be  made  so,  in  complaisance  to  a  few  who  are. 
Accordingly  we  find  that  iu  all  ages,  all  vain  pretenders, 
were  they  ever  so  poor  or  ever  so  dull,  have  been  con- 
stantly the  topics  of  the  most  candid  satirists,  from  the 
Codrus  of  JUVENAL  to  the  Damon  of  BOILEAU. 

Having  mentioned  BOILEAU,  the  greatest  poet  and  most 
judicious  critic  of  his  age  and  country,  admirable  for  his 
talents,  and  yet  perhaps  more  admirable  for  his  judgment 
in  the  proper  application  of  them ;  I  cannot  help  remarking 
the  resemblance  betwixt  him  and  our  author,  in  qualities, 
fame,  and  fortune ;  in  the  distinctions  shown  them  by  their 
superiors,  in  the  general  esteem  of  their  equals,  and  in  their 
extended  reputation  amongst  foreigners ;  in  the  latter  of 
which  ours  has  met  with  the  better  fate,  as  he  has  had  for 
his  translators  persons  of  the  most  eminent  rank  and 
abilities  in  their  respective  nations.  But  the  resemblance 
holds  in  nothing  more,  than  in  their  being  equally  abused 
by  the  ignorant  pretenders  to  poetry  of  their  times;  of 
which  not  the  least  memory  will  remain  but  in  their  own 
writings,  and  in  the  notes  made  upon  them.  What  BOILEAU 
has  done  in  almost  all  his  poems,  our  author  has  only  in 
this:  I  dare  answer  for  him  he  will  do  it  in  no  more ;  and  on 
this  principle,  of  attacking  few  but  who  had  slandered  him, 
he  could  not  have  done  it  at  all,  had  he  been  confined  from 
censuring  obscure  and  worthless  persons,  for  scarce  any 
other  were  his  enemies.  However,  as  the  parity  is  so 
remarkable,  I  hope  it  will  continue  to  the  last ;  and  if  ever 
he  shall  give  us  an  edition  of  this  poem  himself,  I  may  see 
some  of  them  treated  as  gently,  on  their  repentance  or 
better  merit,  as  Perrault  and  Quinault  were  at  last  by 
BOILEAU. 

In  one  point  I  must  be  allowed  to  think  the  character  of 
our  English  poet  the  more  amiable.  He  has  not  been  a 
follower  of  fortune  or  success;  he  has  lived  with  the  great 
without  flattery ;  been  a  friend  to  men  in  power,  without 
pensions,  from  whom,  as  he  asked,  so  he  received  no  favour, 
but  what  was  done  him  in  his  friends.  As  his  satires  were 
the  more  just  for  being  delayed,  so  were  his  panegyrics; 
bestowed  only  on  such  persons  as  he  had  familiarly  known, 
only  for  such  virtues  as  he  had  long  observed  in  them,  and 
only  at  such  times  as  others  cease  to  praise,  if  not  begin 


378  THE   DUNCIAD. 

to  calumniate  them,  I  mean  when  out  of  power  or  out  of 
fashion.  A  satire,  therefore,  on  writers  so  notorious  for 
the  contrary  practice,  became  no  man  so  well  as  himself; 
as  none,  it  is  plain,  was  so  little  in  their  friendships,  or  so 
much  in  that  of  those  whom  they  had  most  abused,  namely, 
the  greatest  and  best  of  all  parties.  Let  me  add  a  further 
reason,  that,  though  engaged  in  their  friendships,  he  never 
espoused  their  animosities ;  and  can  almost  singly  challenge 
this  honour,  not  to  have  written  a  line  of  any  man,  which, 
through  guilt,  through  shame,  or  through  fear,  through 
variety  of  fortune,  or  change  of  interests,  he  was  ever  un- 
willing to  own. 

I  shall  conclude  with  remarking  what  a  pleasure  it  must 
be  to  every  reader  of  humanity,  to  see  all  along,  that  our 
author  in  his  very  laughter  is  not  indulging  his  own  ill- 
nature,  but  only  punishing  that  of  others.  As  to  his  poem, 
those  alone  are  capable  of  doing  it  justice,  who,  to  use  the 
words  of  a  great  writer,  know  how  hard  it  is  (with  regard 
both  to  his  subject  and  his  manner)  VETUSTIS  DARE  NOVI- 

TATEM,    OBSOLETIS    NITOREM,    OBSCURIS    LUCEM,   FASTIDITIS 

GRATIAM.  I  am, 

Your  most  humble  servant, 
St.  James's,  Dec.  22, 1728.  WILLIAM  CLELAND. 


DENNIS,  REMARKS  ON  PRINCE  ARTHUR. 

I  cannot  but  think  it  the  most  reasonable  thing  in  the 
world,  to  distinguish  good  writers  by  discouraging  the  bad. 
Nor  is  it  an  ill-natured  thing,  in  relation  even  to  the  very 
persons  upon  whom  the  reflections  are  made.  It  is  true,  it 
may  deprive  them,  a  little  the  sooner,  of  a  short  profit  and 
a  transitory  reputation;  but  then  it  may  have  a  good  effect, 
and  oblige  them  (before  it  be  too  late)  to  decline  that  for 
which  they  are  so  very  unfit,  and  to  have  recourse  to  some- 
thing in  which  they  may  be  more  successiul. 

CHARACTER  OF  MR.  P.  1716. 

The  persons  whom  Boileau  has  attacked  in  his  writings, 
have  been  for  the  most  part  authors,  and  most  of  those 
authors,  poets :  and  the  censures  he  hath  passed  upon  them 
have  been  confirmed  by  all  Europe. 


TilE   tUXCJAlX  379 

GILDON,  PREFACE  TO  HIS  NEW  REHEARSAL. 

It  is  the  common  cry  of  the  poetasters  of  the  town,  and 
their  fautors,  that  it  is  an  ill-natured  thing  to  expose  the 
pretenders  to  wit  and  poetry.  The  judges  and  magistrates 
may  with  full  as  good  reason  be  reproached  with  ill-nature 
for  putting  the  laws  in  execution  against  a  thief  or  im- 
postor.— The  same  will  hold  in  the  republic  of  letters,  if 
the  critics  and  judges  will  let  every  ignorant  pretender  to 
scribbling  pass  on  the  world. 

THEOBALD,  LETTER  TO  MIST,  JUNE  22,  1728. 

Attacks  may  be  levelled,  either  against  failures  in  geniut, 
or  against  the  pretensions  of  writing  without  one. 

COXCANEN,  DEDICATION  TO  THE  AUTHOR  OF  THE 
DUXCIAD. 

A  satire  upon  dullness  is  a  thing  that  has  been  used  and 
altoired  in  all  ages. 

Out  of  thine  oicn  'mouth  will  I  judge  thee}wicked  scribbler  I 


TESTIMONIES  OF  AUTHORS 

CONCERNING    CUE    POET    AND    HIS    WORKS. 

M.  SCRIBLEUUS  Lectori  S- 

BEFORE  we  present  thee  with  our  exercitations  on  this  most 
delectable  poem  (drawn  from  the  many  volumes  of  our 
Adversaria  on  modern  authors)  we  shall  here,  according 
to  the  laudable  usage  of  editors,  collect  the  various  judg- 
ments of  the  learned  concerning  our  poet:  various  indeed, 
not  only  of  different  authors,  but  of  the  same  author  at 
different  seasons.  Nor  shall  we  gather  only  the  testimonies 
of  such  eminent  wits,  as  would  of  course  descend  to  pos- 
terity, and  consequently  be  read  without  our  collection ; 
but  we  shall  likewise  with  incredible  labour  seek  out  for 
divers  others,  which,  but  for  this  our  diligence,  could 
never  at  the  distance  of  a  few  months  appear  to  the  eye  of 
the  most  curious.  Hereby  thou  may'st  not  only  receive 
the  delectation  of  variety,  but  also  arrive  at  a  more  certain 


380  TilE   DUNCIAD. 

judgment,  by  a  grave  and  circumspect  comparison  of  the 
witnesses  with  each  other,  or  of  each  with  himself.  Hence 
also  thou  wilt  be  enabled  to  draw  reflections,  not  only  of  a 
critical,  but  a  moral  nature,  by  being  let  into  many  par- 
ticulars of  the  person  as  well  as  genius,  and  of  the  fortune 
as  well  as  merit,  of  our  author :  In  which  if  I  relate  some 
things  of  little  concern  peradventure  to  thee,  and  some  of 
as  little  even  to  him :  I  entreat  thee  to  consider  how  mi- 
nutely all  true  critics  and  commentators  are  wont  to  insist 
upon  such,  and  how  material  they  seem  to  themselves,  if 
to  none  other.  Forgive  me,  gentle  reader,  if  (following 
learned  example)  I  ever  and  anon  become  tedious:  allow 
me  to  take  the  same  pains  to  find  whether  my  author  were 
good  or  bad,  well  or  ill-natured,  modest  or  arrogant ;  as 
another,  whether  his  author  was  fair  or  brown,  short  or 
tall,  or  whether  he  wore  a  coat  or  a  cassock. 

We  purposed  to  begin  with  his  life,  parentage,  and  edu- 
cation :  but  as  to  these,  even  his  contemporaries  do  exceed- 
ingly differ.  One  saith,  he  was  educated  at  home ;  another, 
that  he  was  bred  at  St.  Omer's  by  Jesuits ;  a  third,  not  at 
St.  Omer's,  but  at  Oxford  ;  a  fourth,  that  he  had  no  uni- 
versity education  at  all.  Those  who  allow  him  to  be  bred 
at  home,  differ  as  much  concerning  his  tutor:  one  saith, 
he  was  kept  by  his  father  on  purpose ;  a  second,  that  he 
was  an  itinerant  priest ;  a  third,  that  he  was  a  parson ;  one 
calleth  him  a  secular  clergyman  of  the  church  of  Rome ; 
another,  a  monk.  As  little  do  they  agree  about  his  father, 
whom  one  supposeth,  like  the  father  of  Hesiod,  a  trades- 
man or  merchant ;  another,  a  husbandman  ;  another,  a 
hatter,  &c.  Nor  has  an  author  been  wanting  to  give  our 
poet  such  a  father  as  Apuleius  hath  to  Plato,  Jamblicus 
to  Pythagoras,  and  divers  to  Homer,  namely,  a  demon:  for 
thus  Mr.  Gildon :  "  Certain  it  is,  that  his  original  is  not 
from  Adam,  but  the  devil ;  and  that  he  wanteth  nothing 
but  horns  and  tail  to  be  the  exact  resemblance  of  his 
infernal  father."  Finding,  therefore,  such  contrariety  of 
opinions,  and  (whatever  be  ours  of  this  sort  of  generation) 
not  being  fond  to  enter  into  controversy,  we  shall  defer 
writing  the  life  of  our  poet,  until  authors  can  determine 
among  themselves  what  parents  or  education  he  had,  or 
whether  he  had  any  education  or  parents  at  all. 

Proceed  we  to  what  is  more  certain,  his  works,  though 
not  less  uncertain  the  judgments  concerning  them;  be- 


THE  DUNCIAD.  381 

ginning  with  his  ESSAY  on  CRITICISM,  of  which  hear  first 
the  most  ancient  of  critics. 

MB.  JOHN  DENNIS. 

"  His  precepts  are  false,  or  trivial,  or  both ;  his  thoughts 
are  crude  and  abortive,  his  expressions  absurd,  his  num- 
bers harsh  and,  unmusical,  his  rhymes  trivial  and  common; 
— instead  of  majesty,  we  have  something  that  is  very 
mean ;  instead  of  gravity,  something  that  is  very  boyish ; 
and  instead  of  perspicuity  and  lucid  order,  we  have  but 
too  often  obscurity  and  confusion."  And  in  another  place : 
"  What  rare  numbers  are  here  !  "Would  not  one  swear  that 
this  youngster  had  espoused  some  antiquated  muse,  who 
had  sued  out  a  divorce  from  some  superannuated  sinner, 
upon  account  of  impotence,  and  who,  being  poxed  by  her 
former  spouse,  has  got  the  gout  in  her  decrepid  age,  which 
makes  her  hobble  so  damnably.''''  No  less  peremptory  is 
the  censure  of  our  hypercritical  historian, 

MR.  OLDMIXON. 

"I  dare  not  say  anything  of  the  Essay  on  Criticism  in 
verse ;  but  if  any  more  curious  reader  has  discovered  in 
it  something  new  which  is  not  in  Dryden's  prefaces,  dedi- 
cations, and  his  essay  on  dramatic  poetry,  not  to  mention 
the  French  critics,  I  should  be  very  glad  to  have  the 
benefit  of  the  discovery." 

He  is  followed  (as  in  fame,  so  in  judgment)  by  the 
modest  and  simple-minded 

MR.  LEONARD  WELSTKD ; 

who,  out  of  great  respect  to  our  poet,  not  naming  him, 
doth  yet  glance  at  his  Essay,  together  with  the  Duke  of 
Buckingham's,  and  the  criticisms  of  Dryden,  and  of  Horace, 
which  he  more  openly  ta^eth:  "As  to  the  numerous 
treatises,  essays,  arts,  &c.  both  in  verse  and  prose,  that 
have  been  written  by  the  moderns  on  this  ground-work, 
they  do  but  hackney  the  same  thoughts  over  again,  making 
them  still  more  trite.  Most  of  their  pieces  are  7iothing  but 
a  pert,  insipid  heap  of  commonplace.  Horace  has  even  in 
his  Art  of  Poetry  thrown  out  several  things  which  plainly 
show,  he  thought  an  art  of  poetry  was  of  no  use,  even 
while  he  was  writing  one." 

34 


382  T:II:  I>UNCIAP. 

To  all  which  great  authorities,  we  can  only  oppose 
that  of 

MR.  ADDISON. 

" The  Art  of  Criticism  (saith  he)  which  was  published 
some  months  since,  is  a  master-piece  in  its  kind.  The  ob- 
servations follow  one  another,  like  those  in  Horace's  Art 
of  Poetry,  without  that  methodical  regularity  which  would 
have  been  requisite  in  a  prose  writer.  They  are  some  of 
them  uncommon,  but  such  as  the  reader  must  assent  to, 
when  he  sees  them  explained  with  that  ease  and  perspi- 
cuity in  which  they  are  delivered.  As  for  those  which 
are  the  most  known  and  the  most  received,  they  are  placed 
in  so  beautiful  a  light,  and  illustrated  with  such  apt  allu- 
sions, that  they  have  in  them  all  the  graces  of  novelty ; 
and  make  the  reader,  who  was  before  acquainted  with 
them,  still  more  convinced  of  their  truth  and  solidity.  And 
here  give  me  leave  to  mention  what  Monsieur  Boileau  has 
so  well  enlarged  upon  in  the  preface  to  his  works :  That 
wit  and  fine  writing  doth  not  consist  so  much  in  advancing 
things  that  are  new,  as  in  giving  things  that  are  known  an 
agreeable  turn.  It  is  impossible  for  us  who  live  in  the 
latter  ages  of  the  world,  to  make  observations  in  criticism, 
morality,  or  any  art  or  science,  which  have  not  been 
touched  upon  by  others:  we  have  little  else  left  us,  but  to 
represent  the  common  sense  of  mankind  in  more  strong, 
more  beautiful,  or  more  uncommon  lights.  If  a  reader 
examines  Horace's  Art  of  Poetry,  he  will  find  but  few 
precepts  in  it,  which  he  may  not  meet  with  in  Aristotle, 
and  which  were  not  commonly  known  by  all  the  poets  of 
the  Augustan  age.  His  way  of  expressing,  and  applying 
them,  not  his  invention  of  them,  is  what  we  are  chiefly  to 
admire. 

"  Longinus,  in  his  reflections,  has  given  us  the  same 
kind  of  sublime,  which  he  observes  in  the  several  passages 
that  occasioned  them:  I  canno't  but  take  notice  that  our 
English  author  has  after  the  same  manner  exemplified 
several  of  the  precepts  in  the  very  precepts  themselves." 
He  then  produces  some  instances  of  a  particular  beauty  in 
the  numbers,  and  concludes  with  saying,  that  "there  are 
three  poems  in  our  tongue  of  the  same  nature,  and  each  a 
master-piece  in  its  kind  ;  the  Essay  on  Translated  Verse ; 
the  Essay  on  the  Art  of  Poetry;  and  the  Essay  on  Cri- 
ticism." 


THE  DUNCIAD.  383 

Of  WINDSOR  FOREST,  positive  is  the  judgment  of  the 
affirmative 

MR  JOHN  DENNIS 

"  That  it  is  a  wretched  rhapsody,  impudently  written  in 
emulation  of  the  Cooper's  Hill  of  Sir  John  Deuham:  the 
author  of  it  is  obscure,  is  ambiguous,  is  affected,  is  temera- 
rious, is  barbarous." 

But  the  author  of  the  Dispensary, 

DR.  GARTH, 

in  the  preface  to  his  poem  of  Claremont,  differs  from  this 
opinion :  "  those  who  have  seen  these  two  excellent  poems 
of  Cooper's  Hill,  and  Windsor  Forest,  the  one  written  by 
Sir  John  Denham,  the  other  by  Mr.  Pope,  will  show  a 
great  deal  of  candour  if  they  approve  of  this." 

Of  the  epistle  of  ELOISA,  we  are  told  by  the  obscure 
writer  of  a  poem  called  Sawney,  "  that  because  Prior's 
Henry  and  Emma  charmed  the  finest  tastes,  our  author 
writ  his  Eloise,  in  opposition  to  it;  but  forgot  innocence 
and  virtue :  if  you  take  away  her  tender  thoughts,  and  her 
fierce  desires,  all  the  rest  is  of  no  value."  In  which, 
methinks,  his  judgment  resembleth  that  of  a  French  tailor 
on  a  villa  and  gardens  by  the  Thames  :  "  All  this  is  very 
fine,  but  take  away  the  river,  and  it  is  good  for  nothing." 

But  very  contrary  hereunto  was  the  opinion  of 

MR.  PRIOR 

himself,  saying  in  his  Alma, 

O  Abelard!  ill  fated  youth, 

Thy  tale  will  justify  this  truth. 

But  well  I  weet  thy  cruel  wrong 

Adorns  a  nobler  poet's  song: 

Dan  Pope,  for  thy  misfortune  grieved, 

With  kind  concern  and  skill  has  weaved 

A  silken  web;  and  ne'er  shall  fade 

Its  colours:  gently  has  he  laid 

The  mantle  o'er  thy  sad  distress, 

And  Venus  shall  tke  texture  bless,  &C. 

Come  we  now  to  his  translation  of  the  ILIAD,  celebrated 
by  numerous  pens,  yet  shall  it  suffice  to  mention  the 
indefatigable 

SIR  RICHARD  BLACKMORE,  KT. 

who  (though  otherwise  a  severe  censurer  of  our  author) 
yet  styleth  this  a  "  laudable  translation."  That  ready  writer, 


384  THE   DUNCIAD. 

MR.  OLD3IIXON, 

in  his  forementioned  Essay,  frequently  commends  the 
same.  And  the  painful 

MR.  LEWIS  THEOBALD 

thus  extols  it,  "  The  spirit  of  Homer  breathes  all  through 
this  translation.  I  am  in  doubt,  whether  I  should  most 
admire  the  justness  to  the  original,  or  the  force  and  beauty 
of  the  language,  or  the  sounding  variety  of  the  numbers : 
but  when  I  find  all  these  meet,  it  puts  me  in  mind  of  what 
the  poet  says  of  one  of  his  heroes,  that  he  alone  raised  and 
flung  with  ease  a  weighty  stone,  that  two  common  men 
could  not  lift  from  the  ground ;  just  so,  one  single  person 
has  performed  in  this  translation,  what  I  once  despaired 
to  have  seen  done  by  the  force  of  several  masterly  hands." 
Indeed  the  same  gentleman  appears  to  have  changed  his 
sentiment  in  his  Essay  on  the  Art  of  Sinking  in  lleputa- 
tion,  (printed  in  Mist's  Journal,  March  30,  1728)  where  he 
says  thus :  "  In  order  to  sink  in  reputation,  let  him  take  it 
into  his  head  to  descend  into  Homer  (let  the  world»wonder, 
as  it  will,  how  the  devil  he  got  there,)  and  pretend  to  do 
him  into  English,  so  his  version  denote  his  neglect  of  the 
manner  how."  Strange  variation  !  We  are  told  in 

MIST'S  JOURNAL,  June  8, 

"That  this  translation  of  the  Iliad  was  not  in  all  re- 
spects conformable  to  the  fine  taste  of  his  friend  Mr. 
Addison ;  insomuch  that  he  employed  a,  younger  muse,  in  an 
undertaking  of  this  kind,  which  he  supervised  himself." 
Whether  Mr.  Addison  did  find  it  conformable  to  his  taste, 
or  not,  best  appears  from  his  own  testimony  the  year  fol- 
lowing its  publication,  in  these  words: 

MR.  ADDISON,  FREEHOLDER.  No.  40. 

"  When  I  consider  myself  aS  a  British  freeholder,  I  am 
in  a  particular  manner  pleased  with  the  labours  of  those 
who  have  improved  our  language  with  the  translations  of 
old  Greek  and  Latin  authors. — We  have  already  most  of 
their  historians  in  our  own  tongue,  and  what  is  more  for 
the  honour  of  our  language,  it  has  been  taught  to  express 
with  elegance  the  greatest  of  their  poets  in  each  nation. 
The  illiterate  among  our  own  countrymen  may  learn  to 


THE   DUXCIAD.  385 

judge  from  Dryden's  Virgil  of  the  most  perfect  epic  per- 
formance. And  those  parts  of  Homer  which  have  been 
published  already  by  Mr. Pope,  give  tis  reason  to  thiuk  that 
the  Iliad  will  appear  in  English  with  as  little  disadvantage 
to  that  immortal  poem." 

As  to  the  rest,  there  is  a  slight  mistake,  for  this  younger 
rnuje  was  an  elder:  nor  was  the  gentleman  (who  is  a  friend 
of  our  author)  employed  by  Mr.  Addison  to  translate  it 
after  him,  since  he  saith  himself  that  he  did  it  before. 
Contrariwise  that  Mr.  Addison  engaged  our  author  in  this 
work  appeareth  by  declaration  thereof  in  the  preface  to 
the  Iliad,  printed  some  time  before  his  death,  and  by  his 
own  letters  of  October  26,  and  November  2,  1713,  where 
he  declares  it  as  his  opinion,  that  no  other  person  was 
equal  to  it. 

Next  comes  hifl  Shakspeare  on  the  stage:  "Let  him 
(quoth  one,  whom  I  take  to  be 

MR.  THEOBALD,  MIST'S  JOURNAL,  June  8,  1728.) 

publish  such  an  author  as  he  has  least  studied,  and  forget 
to  discharge  even  the  dull  duty  of  an  editor.  In  this  pro- 
ject let  him  lend  the  bookseller  his  name  (for  a  competent 
sum  of  money)  to  promote  the  credit  of  an  exorbitant  sub- 
scription." Gentle  reader,  be  pleased  to  cast  thine  eye  on 
the  proposal  below  quoted,  and  on  what  follows  (some 
months  after  the  former  assertion)  in  the  same  Journalist 
of  June  8.  "The  bookseller  proposed  the  book  by  sub- 
scription, and  raised  some  thousands  of  pounds  for  the 
same :  I  believe  the  gentleman  did  not  share  in  the  profits 
of  this  extravagant  subscription. 

"  After  the  Iliad,  he  undertook  (saith 

MIST'S  JOURNAL,  June  8,  1728.) 

the  sequel  of  that  work,  the  Odyssey;  and  having  secured 
the  success  by  a  numerous  subscription,  he  employed  some 
underlings  to  perform  what,  according  to  his  proposals, 
should  come  from  his  own  hands."  To  which  heavy 
charge  we  can  in  truth  oppose  noihing  but  the  words  of 

JIB.  POPE'S  PROPOSAL  FOtt  THE  ODYSSEY. 
(Printed  by  J.  Watts  Jau.  10,  1724.) 

"  I  take  tins  occasion  to  declare  that  the  subscription  for 

Shakspeare  belongs  wholly  to  Mr.  Tonson  :  And  that  the 

34* 


386  TIII3   DUNCIAD 

benefit  of  this  proposal  is  not  solely  for  my  own  use,  but 
for  that  of  two  of  my  friends,  who  have  assisted  me  in  this 
'work."  But  these  very  gentlemen  are  extolled  above  our 
poet  himself  in  another  of  Mist's  Journals,  March  30, 1728, 
saying, "  That  he  would  not  advise  Mr.  Pope  to  try  the 
experiment  again  of  getting  a  great  part  of  a  book  done  by 
assistants,  lest  those  extraneous  parts  should  unhappily 
ascend  to  the  sublime,  and  retard  the  declension  of  the 
whole."  Behold !  these  underlings  are  become  good 
writers ! 

It  any  say,  that  before  the  said  proposals  were  printed, 
the  subscription  was  begun  without  declaration  of  such 
assistance ;  verily,  those  who  set  it  on  foot,  or  (as  their 
term  is)  secured  it,  to  wit,  the  right  honourable  the  Lord 
Viscount  HARCOUIIT,  were  he  living,  would  testify,  and 
the  right  honourable  the  Lord  BATHURST,  now  living,  doth 
testify,  the  same  is  a  falsehood. 

Sorry  I  am,  that  persons  professing  to  be  learned,  or  of 
whatever  rauk  of  authors,  should  either  falsely  tax,  or  be 
falsely  taxed.  Yet  let  us,  who  are  only  reporters,  be  im- 
partial in  our  citations,  and  proceed. 

MIST'S  JOUKNAL,  June  8,  1728. 

"Mr.  Addison  raised  this  author  from  obscurity,  ob- 
tained him  the  acquaintance  and  friendship  of  the  whole 
body  of  our  nobility,  and  transferred  his  powerful  interests 
with  those  great  men  to  this  rising  bard,  who  frequently 
levied  by  that  means  unusual  contributions  on  the  public." 
"Which  surely  cannot  be,  if,  as  the  author  of  the  Dunciad 
Dissected  reporteth ;  "  Mr.  "Wyeherley  had  before  intro- 
duced him  into  a  familiar  acquaintance  with  the  greatest 
peers  and  brightest  wits  then  living.' : 

"  No  sooner  (saith  the  same  Journalist)  was  his  body 
lifeless,  but  this  author,  reviving  his  resentment,  libelled 
the  memory  of  his  departed  friend  ;  and,  what  was  still 
more  heinous,  made  the  scandal  public."  Grievous  the 
accusation !  unknown  the  accuser  !  the  person  accused  no 
witness  in  his  own  cause ;  the  person,  in  whose  regard 
accused,  dead !  But  if  there  be  living  any  one  nobleman 
whose  friendship,  yea,  any  one  gentleman  whose  subscrip- 
tion Mr.  Addison  procured  to  our  author;  let  him  stand 
forth,  that  truth  may  appear!  Amicus  Plato,  amicus 
Socrates,  sed  magis  arnica  veritas.  In  verity,  the  whole 


THE   DUNCIAD.  387 

story  of  the  libel  is  a  lie  ;  witness  those  persons  of  integrity 
who  several  years  before  Mr.  Addison's  decease,  did  see 
and  approve  of  the  said  verses,  in  no  wise  a  libel,  but  a 
friendly  rebuke  sent  privately  in  our  author's  own  hand 
to  Mr.  Addison  himself,  and  never  made  public,  until 
after  their  own  journal  and  Curl  had  printed  the  same. 
One  name  alone,  which  I  am  here  authorized  to  declare, 
will  sufficiently  evince  this  truth,  that  of  the  right  honour- 
able the  Earl  of  BURLINGTON. 

Next  is  he  taxed  with  a  crime  (in  the  opinion  of  some 
authors,  I  doubt,  more  heinous  than  any  morality),  to  wit, 
plagiarism,  from  the  inventive  and  quaint-conceited 

JAMES  MOORE  SMITH.  GENT. 

a  Upon  reading  the  third  volume  of  Pope's  Miscellanies, 
I  found  five  lines  which  I  thought  excellent ;  and  happen- 
ing to  praise  them,  a  gentleman  produced  a  modern 
comedy  (the  Rival  Modes)  published  last  year,  where  were 
the  same  verses  to  a  tittle. 

"  These  gentlemen  are  undoubtedly  the  first  plagiaries, 
that  pretend  to  make  a  reputation  by  stealing  from  a 
man's  works  in  his  own  life-time,  and  out  of  a  public 
print."  Let  us  join  to  this  what  is  written  by  the  author 
of  the  Rival  Modes,  the  said  Mr.  James  Moore  Smith,  in  a 
letter  to  our  author  himself,  who  had  informed  him,  a 
month  before  that  play  was  acted,  Jan.  27,  1726-7,  that 
"These -verses,  which  he  had  before  given  him  leave  to 
insert  in  it,  would  be  known  for  his,  some  copies  being  got 
abroad.  He  desires,  nevertheless,  that,  since  the  lines  had 
been  read  in  his  comedy  to  several,  Mr.  P.  would  not 
deprive  it  of  them,"  &c.  Surely  if  we  add  the  testimonies 
of  the  Lord  BOLINGBROKE,  of  the  Lady  to  whom  the  said 
verses  were  originally  addressed,  of  Hugh  Bethel,  Esq., 
and  others,  who  knew  them  as  our  author's,  long  before 
the  said  gentleman  composed  his  play ;  it  is  hoped,  the 
ingenuous  that  affect  not  error,  will  rectify  their  opinion 
by  the  suffrage  of  so  honourable  personages. 

And  yet  followeth  another  charge,  insinuating  no  less 
than  his  enmity  both  to  Church  and  State,  which  could 
come  from  no  other  informer  than  the  said 

MR.  JAMES  MOORE  SMITH. 

"  The  Memoirs  of  a  Parish  Clerk  was  a  very  dull  and 
unjust  abuse  of  a  person  who  wrote  in  defence  of  our 


388  TIIK   DUNCIAD. 

religion  and  constitution,  and  who  has  been  dead  many 
years."  This  seemeth  also  most  untrue;  it  being  known 
to  divers  that  these  memoirs  were  written  at  the  seat  of 
the  Lord  Harcourt  in  Oxfordshire,  before  that  excellent 
person  (bishop  Burnet's)  death,  and  many  years  before  the 
appearance  of  that  history,  of  which  they  are  pretended  to 
be  an  abuse.  Most  true  it  is,  that  Mr.  Moore  had  such 
a  design,  and  was  himself  the  man  who  pressed  Dr. 
Arbuthnot  and  Mr.  Pope  to  assist  him  therein  ;  and  that 
he  borrowed  those  Memoirs  of  -our  author,  .when  that 
history  came  forth,  with  intent  to  turn  them  to  such  abuse. 
But  being  able  to  obtain  from  our  author  but  one  single 
hint,  and  either  changing  his  mind,  or  having  more  mind 
than  ability,  he  contented  himself  to  keep  the  said  Me- 
moirs, and  read  them  as  his  own  to  all  his  acquaintance. 
A  noble  person  there  is,  into  whose  company  Mr.  Pope 
once  chanced  to  introduce  him,  who  well  remembereth 
the  conversation  of  Mr.  Moore  to  have  turned  upon  the 
"  contempt  he  had  for  the  work  of  that  reverend  prelate, 
and  how  full  he  was  of  a  design  he  declared  himself  to 
have  of  exposing  it."  This  noble  person  is  the  Earl  of 
PETERBOROUGH. 

Here  in  truth  should  we  crave  pardon  of  all  the  fore- 
said  right  honourable  and  worthy  personages,  for  having 
mentioned  them  in  the  same  page  Avith  such  weekly  riff- 
raff railers  and  rhymers;  but  that  we  had  their  ever- 
honoured  commands  for  the  same;  and  -that  they  are 
introduced,  not  as  witnesses  in  the  controversy,  but  as 
witnesses  that  cannot  be  controverted ;  not  to  dispute,  but 
to  decide. 

Certain  it  is,  that  dividing  our  writers  into  two  classes, 
of  such  who  were  acquaintance,  and  of  such  who  were 
strangers,  to  our  author ;  the  former  are  those  who  speak 
well,  and  the  other  those  who  speak  evil  of  him.  Of  the 
first  class,  the  most  noble 

JOHN,  DUKE  OF  BUCKINGHAM, 

sums  up  his  character  in  these  lines : 

"And  yet  so  wondrous,  so  sublime  a  thing, 
As  tlie  great  Iliad,  scarce  could  make  me  sing, 
Unless  I  justly  could  at  once  comiweud 
A  good  companion,  and  as  firm  a  friend; 
One  moral,  or  a  mere  well-natured  deed, 
Can  all  desert  in  sciences  exceed." 


THE  DUNCIAD.  389 

So  also  is  he  deciphered  by  the  honourable 
SIMON  HARCOUET. 

"  Say,  wondrous  youth,  what  column  wilt  thou  chuse, 
What  laurel'd  arch,  for  thy  triumphant  muse? 
Though  each  great  ancient  court  thee  to  his  shrine, 
Though  every  laurel  through  the  dome  be  thine. 
Go  to  the  good  &nd  just,  an  awful  train  I 
Thy  toul'i  delight." 

Recorded  in  like  manner  for  his  virtuous  disposition,  and 
gentle  bearing,  by  the  ingenious 

MR.  WALTER  HART, 
in  this  apostrophe: 

"  O !  ever  worthy,  ever  crown'd  with  praisel 
Blest  in  thy  life,  and  blest  in  all  thy  lay*. 
Add,  that  the  Sisters  every  thought  reflne, 
And  even  thy  life,  be  faultless  as  thy  line. 
Yet  envy  still,  with  fiercer  rage  pursues, 
Obscures  the  virtue,  and  defames  the  muse. 
A  soul  like  thine,  in  pain,  in  grief,  resign'd, 
Views  with  just  scoru  the  malice  of  mankind." 

The  witty  and  moral  satirist, 

DR.  EDWARD  YOUNG. 

•wishing  some  check  to  the  corruption  and  evil  manners  of 
the  times,  calleth  out  upon  our  poet  to  undertake  a  task 
so  worthy  of  his  virtue : 

"  Why  slumbers  Pope,  who  leads  the  muses'  train, 
Kor  hears  that  Viitue,  which  he  lovet,  complain  *" 

MR.  MALLET, 
in  his  epistle  on  Verbal  Criticism : 

"  Whose  life,  severely  scann'd,  transcends  his  lays; 
For  wit  supreme  is  but  his  second  praise." 

MR.  HAMMOND, 

that  delicate  and  correct  imitator  of  Tibullus,  in  his  Love 
Elegies,  Elegy  xiv., 

"  Now,  fired  by  F<  pe  and  Virtue,  leave  the  age. 

In  low  pursuit  of  self-undoing  wrong, 
And  trace  the  author  through  his  moral  page, 
Whose  blameless  life  still  answers  to  his  song." 


390  THE   DUNCIAD. 

SIR.  THOMSON, 
In  his  elegant  and  philosophical  poem  of  The  Seasons: 

"  Although  not  sweeter  his  own  Homer  sings, 
Yet  is  his  life  the  more  endearing  song." 

To  the  same  tune  also  singeth  that  learned    clerk   of 
Suffolk, 

MR.  WILLIAM  BROOHE: 

"  Thus,  nobly  rising  in  fair  Virtue't  cause, 
From  thy  own  life  transcribe  the  unerring  laws." 

And,  to  close  all,  hear  the  reverend  Dean  of  St.  Patrick's : 

"  A  soul  with  every  virtue  fraught, 
By  patriots,  priests,  and  poets  taught. 
Whose  filial  piety  excels 
Whatever  Grecian  story  tells. 
A  genius  for  each  business  fit, 
Whose  meanest  talent  is  his  wit,"  &0. 


Let  us  now  recreate  thee  by  turning  to  the  other  side, 
and  showing  his  character  drawn  by  those  with  whom  he 
never  conversed,  and  whose  Countenances  he  could  not 
know,  though  turned  against  Imn.  First  again  commencing 
with  the  high-voiced  and  never  enough  quoted 

MR.  JOHN  DENNIS, 

who,  in  his  Reflections  on  the  Essay  on  Criticism,  thus 
describeth  him:  "A  little  affected  hypocrite,  who  has 
nothing  in  his  mouth  but  candour,  truth,  friendship,  good- 
nature, humanity,  and  magnanimity.  He  is  so  great  a 
lover  of  falsehood,  that,  whenever  he  has  a  mind  to  calum- 
niate his  contemporaries,  he  brands  them  with  some  defect 
which  is  just  contrary  to  some  good  quality,  for  which  all 
their  friends  and  their  acquaintance  commend  them.  He 
seems  to  have  a  particular  pique  to  people  of  quality,  and 
authors  of  that  rank. — He  must  derive  his  religion  from 
St.  Omer's." — But  in  the  Character  of  Mr.  P.  and  his 
Writings  (printed  by  S.  Popping,  1716),  he  saith, "  Though 
he  is  a  professor  of  the  worst  religion,  yet  he  laughs  at  it;" 
but  that,  "  nevertheless,  he  is  a  virulent  papist;  and  yet  a 
pillar  for  the  church  of  England." 


TUB   DUNCIAD.  391 

Of  both  which  opinions 

MK.  LEWIS  THEOBALD 

seems  also  to  be ;  declaring,  in  Mist's  Journal  of  June  22, 
1718,  "  That,  if  he  is  not  shrewdly  abused,  he  made  it  his 
practice  to  cackle  to  both  parties  in  their  own  sentiments." 
But,  as  to  his  pique  against  people  of  quality,  t  se  same 
journalist  doth  not  agree,  but  saith  (May  8,  1728),  "  lie 
had,  by  some  means  or  other,  the  acquaintance  and  friend- 
ship of  the  whole  body  of  our  nobility." 

However  contradictory  this  may  appear,  Mr.  Dennis  and 
Gildon,  in  the  character  last  cited,  make  it  all  plain,  by 
assuring  us,  "  That  he  is  a  creature  that  reconciles  all  con- 
tradictions ;  he  is  a  beast,  and  a  man ;  a  whig,  and  a  tory ; 
a  writer  (at  one  and  the  same  time)  of  Guardians  and 
Examiners;  an  asserter  of  liberty,  and  of  the  dispensing 
power  of  kings ;  a  Jesuitical  professor  of  truth ;  a  base  and 
a  foul  pretender  to  candour."  So  that,  upon  the  whole 
account,  we  must  conclude  him  either  to  have  been  a 
great  hypocrite,  or  a  very  honest  man ;  a  terrible  imposer 
upon  both  parties,  or  very  moderate  to  either. 

Be  it  as  to  the  judicious  reader  shall  seem  good.  Sure 
it  is,  he  is  little  favoured  of  certain  authors,  whose  wrath 
is  perilous :  for  one  declares  he  ought  to  have  a  price  set  on 
his  head,  and  to  be  hunted  down  as  a  wild  beast.  Another 
protests  that  he  does  not  know  what  may  happen;  advises 
him  to  insure  his  person;  says  he  has  bitter  enemies,  and 
expressly  declares  it  will  be  well  if  he  escapes  with  his  life. 
One  desires  he  would  cut  his  own  throat,,  or  hang  himself. 
But  Pasquin  seemed  rather  inclined  it  should  be  done  by 
the  government,  representing  him  engaged  in  grievous 
designs  with  a  lord  of  parliament,  then  under  prosecution. 
Mr.  Dennis  himself  hath  written  to  a  minister,  that  he  is 
one  of  the  most  dangerous  persons  in  this  kingdom ;  and 
assureth  the  public,  that  he  is  an  open  and  mortal  enemy 
to  his  country;  a  monster,  that  witt,  one  day,  show  as 
daring  a  soul  as  a  mad  Indian,  who  runs  a  muck  to  kill 
the  first  Christian  he  meets.  Another  gives  information 
of  treason  discovered  in  his  poem.  Mr.  Curl  boldly  sup- 
plies an  imperfect  verse  with  kings  and  princesses.  And 
one  Matthew  Concanen,  yet  more  impudent,  publishes  at 
length  the  two  most  SACKED  NAMES  in  this  nation,  as 
members  of  the  Dunciad ! 

This  is  prodigious !  yet  it  is  almost  as  strange,  that  in 


392  THE   DUNCIAD. 

the  mid«t  of  these  invectives  his  greatest  enemies  hare 
(I  know  not  how)  borne  testimony  to  some  merit  in  him. 

MR.  THEOBALD, 

in  censuring  his  Shakspeare,  declares,  "He  has  so  great  an 
esteem  for  Mr.  Pope,  and  so  high  an  opinion  of  his  genius 
and  excellencies,  that,  notwithstanding  he  professes  a  vene- 
ration almost  rising  to  idolatry  for  the  writings  of  this 
inimitable  poet,  he  would  be  very  loth  even  to  do  him 
justice,  at  the  expense  of  that  other  gentleman's  character." 

MR.  CHARLES  GILDON, 

after  having  violently  attacked  him  in  many  pieces,  at 
last  came  to  wish  from  his  heart,  "  That  Mr.  Pope  would 
be  prevailed  upon  to  give  us  Ovid's  Epistles  by  his  hand, 
for  it  is  certain  we  see  the  original  of  Sappho  to  Phaon 
with  much  more  life  and  likeness  in  his  version,  than  in 
that  of  Sir  Car.  Scrope.  And  this,"  he  adds,  "  is  the  more 
to  be  wished,  because  in  the  English  tongue  we  have 
scarce  anything  truly  and  naturally  written  upon  love." 
He  also,  in  taxing  Sir  Richard  Blackmore  for  his  heterodox 
opinions  of  Homer,  challengeth  him  to  answer  what  Mr. 
Pope  hath  said  in  his  preface  to  that  poet. 

MR.  OLDMIXON 

calls'  him  a  great  master  of  our  tongue;  declares  "the 

C'ity  and  perfection  of  the  English  language  is  to  be 
nd  in  his  Homer;   and  saying  there  are  more  good 
verses  in  Dryden's  Virgil  than  in  any  other  work,  excepts 
this  of  our  author  only." 

THE  AUTHOR  OF  A  LETTER  TO  MR.  CIBBEK 

says,  "  Pope  was  so  good  a  versifier  [once]  that  his  pre- 
decessor, Mr.  Dryden,  and  his  contemporary,  Mr.  Prior, 
excepted,  the  harmony  of  his  numbers  is  equal  to  any- 
body's. And  that  he  had  all  the  merit  that  a  man  can  have 
that  way."  And 

MR.  THOMAS  COOKE, 
after  much  blemishing  our  author's  Homer,  crieth  out, 

"  But  in  his  other  works  what  beauties  shine ! 
"While  sweetest  music  dwells  in  every  line, 
These  he  admired,  on  these  he  stamp'd  his  praise. 
And  bade  them  live  to  brighten  future  days." 


THE  DUNCIAD.  393 

So  also  one  who  takes  the  name  of 

H.  STANHOPE, 

the  maker  of  certain  verses  to  Duncan  Campbell,  in  that 
poem,  which  is  wholly  a  satire  on  Mr.  Pope,  confesseth, 

«"Tis  true,  if  finest  notes  alone  could  show 
(Tuned  justly  high,  or  regularly  low) 
That  we  should  fame  to  these  mere  vocals  give; 
Pope  more  than  we  can  offer  should  receive: 
For  when  some  gliding  river  is  his  theme, 
His  lines  run  smoother  than  the  smoothest  stream,"  &C. 

MIST'S  JOURNAL,  June  8,  1728. 

Although  he  says,  "  The  smooth  numbers  of  the  Dunciad 
are  all  that  recommend  it,  nor  has  it  any  other  merit ;" 
yet  that  same  paper  hath  these  words :  "The  author  is 
allowed  to  be  a  perfect  master  of  an  easy  and  elegant  ver- 
sification. In  all  his  works  we  find  the  most  happy  turns, 
and  natural  similes,  wonderfully  short  and  thick  sown." 

The  Essay  on  the  Dunciad,  p.  25,  also  owns,  "  It  is  very 
full  of  beautiful  images.""  But  the  panegyric,  which  crowns 
all  that  can  be  said  on  this  poem,  is  bestowed  by  our 
Laureate 

MB.  COLLEY  GIBBER, 

who  "  grants  it  to  be  a  better  poem  of  its  kind  than  ever 
was  writ ;"  but  adds,  "  it  was  a  victory  over  a  parcel  of 
poor  wretches,  whom  it  was  almost  cowardice  to  conquer. 
A  man  might  as  well  triumph  for  having  killed  so  many 
silly  flies  that  offended  him.  Could  behave  let  them  alone, 
by  this  time,  poor  souls !  they  had  all  been  buried  in 
oblivion."  Here  we  see  our  excellent  Laureate  allows  the 
justice  of  the  satire  on  every  man  in  it,  but  himself;  as  the, 
great  Mr.  Dennis  did  before  him. 
The  said 

MR.  DENNIS,  AND  MR.  GILDON, 

in  the  most  furious  of  all  their  works  (the  forecited  cha- 
racter, p.  5,)  do  in  concert  confess,  "  That  some  men  of 
good  understanding  value  him  lor  his  rhymes."  And 
(p.  17,)  "  That  he  has  got,  like  Mr.  Bayes  in  the  Rehearsal, 
(that  is,  like  Mr.  Dryden)  a  notable  knack  at  rhyming, 
and  writing  smooth  verse." 

Of  his  Essay  on  Man,  numerous  were  the  praises  be- 
stowed by  his  avowed  enemies,  in  the  imagination  that  the 

35 


394  THE   DUNCIAD. 

same  was  not  written  by  him,  as  it  was  printed  anony- 
mously. 

Thus  sung  of  it  even 

BEZALEEL  MORRIS. 

«  Auspicious  bard,  while  all  admire  thy  strain, 
All  but  the  selfish,  ignorant,  and  vain  ; 
I,  whom  no  bribe  to  servile  flattery  drew, 
Must  pay  the  tribute  to  thy  merit  due: 
Thy  muse,  sublime,  significant,  and  clear, 
Alike  informs  the  soul,  and  charms  the  ear,"  &o. 

And 

MR.  LEONARD  WELSTED 

thus  wrote  to  the  unknown  author,  on  the  first  publication 
of  the  said  Essay :  "  I  must  own,  after  the  reception  which 
the  vilest  and  most  immoral  ribaldry  hath  lately  met 
with,  I  was  surprised  to  see  what  I  had  long  despaired,  a 
performance  deserving  the  name  of  a  poet.  Such,  sir,  is 
your  work.  It  is,  indeed,  above  all  commendation,  and 
ought  to  have  been  published  in  an  age  and  country  more 
worthy  of  it.  If  my  testimony  be  of  weight  anywhere, 
you  are  sure  to  have  it  in  the  amplest  manner,"  &c.  &c.  &c. 
Thus  we  see  every  one  of  his  works  hath  been  extolled 
by  one  or  other  of  his  most  inveterate  enemies ;  and  to  the 
success  of  them  all  they  do  unanimously  give  testimony. 
But  it  is  sufficient,  instar  omnium,  to  behold  the  great 
critic,  Mr.  Dennis,  sorely  lamenting  it,  even  from  the 
Essay  on  Criticism  to  this  day  of  the  Dunciad  !  "  A  most 
notorious  instance,"  quoth  he,  "  of  the  depravity  of  genius 
and  taste,  the  approbation  this  essay  meets  with. — I  can 
safely  affirm,  that  I  never  attacked  any  of  these  writings, 
unless  they  had  success  infinitely  beyond  their  merit. — 
-.  This,  though  an  empty,  has  been  a  popular  scribbler.  The 
epidemic  madness  of  the  times  has  given  him  reputation. 
If,  after  the  cruel  treatment  so  many  extraordinary  men 
(Spenser,  Lord  Bacon,  Ben  Jonson,  Milton,  Butler, 
Otway,  and  others)  have  received  from  this  country  for 
these  last  hundred  years,  I  should  shift  the  scene,  and 
show  all  that  penury  changed  at  once  to  riot  and  profuse- 
ness  ;  and  more  squandered  away  upon  one  object,  than 
would  have  satisfied  the  greater  part  of  those  extraordi- 
nary men ;  the  reader,  to  whom  this  one  creature  should 
be  unknown,  would  fancy  him  a  prodigy  of  art  and  nature, 
would  believe  that  all  the  great  qualities  of  these  persona 


THE   DUNCIAD.  395 

were  centred  in  him  alone. — But  if  I  should  venture  to 
assure  him,  that  the  PEOPLE  of  ENGLAND  had  made  such  a 
choice — the  reader  would  either  believe  me  a  malicious 
enemy,  and  slanderer  ;  or  that  the  reign  of  the  last  (queen 
Anne's)  ministry  was  designed  by  fate  to  encourage  fools" 

But  it  happens,  that  this  our  poet  never  had  any  place, 
pension,  or  gratuity,  in  any  shape,  from  the  said  glorious 
queen,  or  any  of  her  ministers.  All  he  owed,  in  the  whole 
course  of  his  life,  to  any  court,  was  a  subscription  for  his 
Homer  of  2001.  from  king  George  I.,  and  IQOl.  from  the 
prince  and  princess. 

However,  lest  we  imagine  our  author's  success  was  con- 
stant and  universal,  they  acquaint  us  of  certain  works  in  a 
less  degree  of  repute,  whereof,  although  owned  by  others, 
yet  do  they  assure  us  he  is  the  writer.  Of  this  sort  Mr. 
DENNIS  ascribes  to  him  two  farces,  whose  names  he  does  not 
tell,  but  assures  us  that  there  is  not  one  jest  in  them;  and  an 
imitation  of  Horace,  whose  title  he  does  not  mention,  but 
assures  us  it  is  much  more  execrable  than  all  his  works.  The 
DAILY  JOURNAL,  May  11,  1728,  assures  us,  "He  is  below 
Tom  Durfey  in  the  drama,  because  (as  that  writer  thinks) 
the  Marriage  Hater  Matched,  and  the  Boarding  School  are 
better  than  the  What-d'ye-call-it ;"  which  is  not  Mr.  P.'s, 
but  Mr.  Gay's.  Mr.  GILDON  assures  us,  in  his  new  llehear- 
sal,  p.  48,  "  That  he  was  writing  a  play  of  the JLady  Jane 
Grey ;"  but  it  afterwards  proved  to  be  Mr.  Howe's.  We 
are  assured  by  another,  "  He  wrote  a  pamphlet,  called  Dr. 
Andrew  Tripe ;"  which  proved  to  be  one  Dr.  Wagstaff 's. 
Mr.  THEOBALD  assures  us,  in  the  Mist  of  the  27th  of  April, 
"  That  the  treatise  of  the  Profound  is  very  dull,  and  that 
Mr.  Pope  is  the  author  of  it."  The  writer  of  Gulliveriana  is 
of  another  opinion ;  and  says,  "  the  whole,  or  greatest  part, 
of  the  merit  of  this  treatise  must  and  can  only  be  ascribed 
to  Gulliver."  [Here,  gentle  reader,  cannot  I  but  smile  at 
the  strange  blindness  and  positiveness  of  men  knowing  the 
said  treatise  to  appertain  to  none  other  but  to  me,  Martinus 
Scriblerus.] 

We  are  assured,  in  Mist's  Journal  of  June  8th,  "  that 
his  own  plays  and  farces  would  better  have  adorned  the 
Dunciad  than  those  of  Mr.  Theobald ;  for  he  had  neither 
genius  for  tragedy  nor  comedy."  Which  whether  true  or 
not,  is  not  easy  to  judge,  inasmuch  as  he  hath  attempted 
neither  ;  unless  we  will  take  it  for  granted,  with  Mr. 
Cibber,  that  his  being  once  very  angry  at  hearing  a  friend 'a 


396  THE   DUNCIAD. 

play  abused,  was  an  infallible  proof  the  play  was  his  own; 
the  said  Mr.  Cibber  thinking  it  impossible  for  a  man  to  be 
mu'ch  concerned  for  any  but  himself:  "  Now  let  any  man 
judge,"  saith  he,  "  by  this  concern,  who  was  the  true  mother 
of  the  child." 

But  from  all  that  hath  been  said,  the  discerning  reader 
will  collect,  that  it  little  availed  our  author  to  have  any 
candour,  since,  when  he  declared  he  did  not  write  for 
others,  it  was  not  credited ;  as  little  to  have  any  modesty, 
since,  when  he  declined  writing  in  any  way  himself,  the 
presumption  of  others  was  imputed  to  him.  If  he  singly 
enterprised  one  great  work,  he  was  taxed  of  boldness 
and  madness  to  a  prodigy:  if  he  took  assistants  in  another, 
it  was  complained  of,  and  represented  as  a  great  injury 
to  the  public.  The  loftiest  heroics,  the  lowest  ballads, 
treatises  against  the  state  or  church,  satires  on  lords  and 
ladies,  raillery  on  wits  and  authors,  squabbles  with  book- 
sellers, or  even  full  and  true  accounts  of  monsters,  poisons, 
and  murders;  of  any  hereof  was  there  nothing  so  good, 
nothing  so  bad,  which  hath  not  at  one  or  other  season  been 
to  him  ascribed.  If  it  bore  no  author's  name,  then  lay  he 
concealed ;  if  it  did,  he  fathered  it  upon  that  author  to  be 
yet  better  concealed:  if  it  resembled  any  of  his  styles,  then 
was  it  evident;  if  it  did  not,  then  disguised  he  it  on  set 
purpose.  ^Tea,  even  direct  oppositions  in  religion,  prin- 
ciples, and  politics,  have  equally  been  supposed  in  him  in- 
herent. Surely  a  most  rare  and  singular  character!  of 
which  let  the  reader  make  what  he  can. 

Doubtless  most  commentators  would  hence  take  occasion 
to  turn  all  to  their  author's  advantage,  and  from  the  testi- 
mony of  his  very  enemies  would  affirm,  that  his  capacity 
was  boundless,  as  well  as  his  imagination ;  that  he  was  a 
perfect  master  of  all  styles,  and  all  arguments ;  and  that 
there  was  in  those  times  no  other  writer,  in  any  kind,  of 
any  degree  of  excellence,  save  himself.  But  as  this  is  not 
our  own  sentiment,  we  shall  determine  on  nothing;  but 
leave  thee,  gentle  reader,  to  steer  thy  judgment  equally 
between  various  opinions,  and  to  choose  whether  thou  wilt 
incline  to  the  testimonies  of  authors  avowed,  or  of  authors 
concealed;  of  thope  who  knew  him,  or  of  those  who  knew 
him  not. 


TIIE    DfXCIAD.  897 

MAETINUS  SCEIBLEEUS, 

OF  THE  POEM 

THIS  poem,  as  it  celebrateth  the  most  grave  and  ancient  of 
things,  Chaos,  Night,  and  Dulness,  so  is  it  of  the  most 
grave  and  ancient  kind.  Homer,  saith  Aristotle,  was  the 
first  who  gave  the  form,  and,  saith  Horace,  who  adapted 
the  measure,  to  heroic  poesy.  But  even  before  this,  may 
be  rationally  presumed  from  what  the  ancients  have  left 
written,  was  a  piece  by  Homer  composed,  of  like  nature 
and  matter  with  this  of  our  poet ;  for  of  epic  sort  it 
appeareth  to  have  been,  yet  of  matter  surely  not  un- 
pleasant, witness  what  is  reported  of  it  by  the  learned 
Archbishop  Eustathius,  in  Odyss.  x.  And  accordingly 
Aristotle,  in  his  Poetic,  chap,  iv.,  doth  further  set  forth, 
that  as  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  gave  examples  to  tragedy,  so 
did  this  poem  to  comedy  its  first  idea. 

From  these  authors  also  it  should  seem  that  the  hero, 
or  chief  personage  of  it,  was  no  less  obscure,  and  his  under- 
standing and  sentiments  no  less  quaint  and  strange  (if  in- 
deed not  more  so)  than  any  of  the  actors  of  our  poem. 
MARGITES  was  the  name  of  this  personage,  whom  Anti- 
quity recordeth  to  have  been  Dunce  the  first;  and  surely 
from  what  we  hear  of  him,  not  unworthy  to  be  the  root 
of  so  spreading  a  tree,  and  so  numerous  a  posterity.  The 
poem  therefore  celebrating  him,  was  properly  and  abso- 
lutely a  Dunciad;  which,  though  now  unhappily  lost,  yet 
is  its  nature  sufficiently  known  by  the  infallible  tokens 
aforesaid.  And  thus  it  doth  appear  that  the  first  Dunciad 
was  the  first  epic  poem,  written  by  Homer  himself,  and 
anterior  even  to  the  Iliad  or  Odyssey. 

Now,  forasmuch  as  our  poet  had  translated  those  two 
famous  works  of  Homer  which  are  yet  left,  he  did  conceive 
it  in  some  sort  his  duty  to  imitate  that  also  which  was  lost ; 
and  was  therefore  induced  to  bestow  on  it  the  same  form 
which  Homer's  is  reported  to  have  had,  namely,  that  of 
epic  poem,  with  a  title  also  framed  after  the  ancient  Greek 
manner,  to  wit,  that  of  Dunciad. 

Wonderful  it  is  that  so  few  of  the  moderns  have  been 
stimulated  to  attempt  some  Dunciad !  since,  in  the  opinion 
of  the  multitude,  it  might  cost  less  pain  and  oil  than 
imitation  of  the  greater  epic.  But  possible  it  is  also,  that, 

35* 


398  THE   DUNCIAD. 

on  due  reflection,  the  maker  might  find  it  easier  to  paint 
a  Charlemagne,  a  Brute,  or  a  Godfrey,  with  just  pomp 
and  dignity  heroic,  than  a  Margites,  a  Codrus,  or  a 
Fleckno. 

We  shall  next  declare  the  occasion  and  the  cause  which 
moved  our  poet  to  this  particular  work.  He  lived  in  those 
days  when  (after  Providence  had  permitted  the  invention 
of  printing  as  a  scourge  for  the  sins  of  the  learned)  paper 
also  became  so  cheap,  and  printers  so  numerous,  that  a 
deluge  of  authors  covered  the  land  ;  whereby  not  only  the 
peace  of  the  honest  unwriting  subject  was  daily  molested. 
but  unmerciful  demands  were  made  of  his  applause,  yea  of 
his  money,  by  such  as  would  neither  earn  the  one,  nor 
deserve  the  other.  At  the  same  time  the  licence  of  the 
press  was  such,  that  it  grew  dangerous  to  refuse  them 
either  ;  for  they  would  forthwith  publish  slanders  un- 
punished, the  authors  being  anonymous,  and  skulking 
under  the  wings  of  publishers— a  set  of  men  who  never 
scrupled  to  vend  either  calumny  or  blasphemy,  as  long  as 
the  town  would  call  for  it. 

Now  our  author,  living  in  those  times,  did  conceive  it  an 
endeavour  well  worthy  an  honest  satirist  to  dissuade  the 
dull,  and  punish  the  wicked,  the  only  way  that  was  left.  In 
that  public-spirited  view  he  laid  the  plan  of  this  poem,  as 
the  greatest  service  he  was  capable  (without  much  hurt,  or 
being  slain)  to  render  his  dear  country.  First,  taking  things 
from  their  original,  he  considereth  the  causes  creative 
of  such  authors,  namely,  dtdness  and  poverty;  the  one  born 
with  them,  the  other  contracted  by  neglect  of  their  proper 
talents,  through  self-conceit  of  greater  abilities.  This  truth 
he  wrappeth  in  an  allegory,  (as  the  construction  of  epic 
poesy  requireth)  and  feigns  that  one  of  these  goddesses  had 
taken  up  her  abode  with  the  other,  and  that  they  jointly 
inspired  all  such  writers  and  such  works.  He  proceedeth 
to  show  the  qualities  they  bestow  on  these  authors,  and  the 
effects  they  produce ;  then  the  materials,  or  stock,  with  which 
they  furnish  them ;  and,  above  all,  that  self-opinion  which 
causeth  it  to  seem  to  themselves  vastly  greater  than  it  is, 
and  is  the  prime  motive  of  their  setting  up  in  this  sad  and 
sorry  merchandise.  The  great  power  of  these  goddesses 
acting  in  alliance  (whereof  as  the  one  is  the  mother  of  in- 
dustry, so  is  the  other  of  plodding)  was  to  be  exemplified 
in  some  one  great  and  remarkable  action :  and  none  could 
be  more  so  than  that  which  our  poet  hath  chosen,  viz.  the 


THE   DUNCIAD.  399 

restoration  of  the  reign  of  Chaos  and  Night,  by  the  minis- 
try of  Dulness,  their  daughter,  in  the  removal  of  her  im- 
perial seat  from  the  city  to  the  polite  world ;  as  the  action 
of  the  ^Eneid  is  the  restoration  of  the  empire  of  Troy,  by 
the  removal  of  the  race  from  thence  to  Latium.  But  as 
Homer  singing  only  the  wrath  of  Achilles,  yet  includes  in 
his  poem  the  whole  history  of  the  Trojan  war,  in  like  man- 
ner our  author  hath  drawn  into  this  single  action  the  whol^ 
history  of  Dulness  and  her  children. 

A  person  must  next  be  fixed  upon  to  support  this  action. 
This  phantom  in  the  poet's  mind  must  have  a  name:  he  finds 

it  to  be  ,  and  he  becomes  of  course  the  hero  of  the 

poem. 

The  fa  Hie  being  thus,  according  to  the  best  example,  one 
and  entire,  as  contained  in  the  proposition ;  the  machinery 
is  a  continued  chain  of  allegories,  setting  forth  the  whole 
power,  ministry,  and  empire  of  Dulness,  extended  through 
her  subordinate  instruments,  in  all  her  various  operations. 

This  is  branched  into  episodes,  each  of  which  hath  its 
moral  apart,  though  all  conducive  to  the  main  end.  The 
crowd  assembled  in  the  second  book  demonstrates  the 
design  to  be  more  extensive  than  to  bad  poets  only,  and 
that  we  may  expect  other  episodes  of  the  patrons,  encou- 
ragers,  or  paymasters  of  such  authors,  as  occasion  shall 
bring  them  forth.  And  the  third  book,  if  well  considered, 
seemeth  to  embrace  the  whole  world.  Each  of  the  games 
relateth  to  some  or  other  of  the  vile  class  of  writers.  The 
first  concerneth  the  Plagiary,  to  whom  he  giveth  the  name  of 
Moore ;  the  second,  the  libellous  Novelist,  whom  he  styleth 
Eliza;  the  third,  the  flattering  Dedicator;  the  fourth,  the 
bawling  Critic,  or  noisy  Poet ;  the  fifth,  the  dark  and  dirty 
Party-writer ;  and  so  of  the  rest :  assigning  to  each  some 
proper  name  or  other,  such  as  he  could  find. 

As  for  the  characters,  the  public  hath  already  acknow- 
ledged how  justly  they  are  drawn:  the  manners  are  so 
depicted,  and  the  sentiments  so  peculiar  to  those  to  whom 
applied,  that  surely  to  transfer  them  to  any  other  or  wiser 
personages,  would  be  exceeding  difficult :  and  certain  it  is, 
that  every  person  concerned,  being  consulted  apart,  hath 
readily  owned  the  resemblance  of  every  portrait,  his  own  ex- 
cepted.  So  Mr.  Gibber  calls  them, "  a  parcel  of  poor  wretches, 
silly  flies:"  but  adds,  "  our  author's  wit  is  remarkably  more 
bare  and  barren,  whenever  it  would  fall  foul  on  Gibber,  than 
upon  any  other  person  whatever." 


400  THE  DUKCIAD. 

The  descriptions  are  singular,  the  comparisons  very 
quaint,  the  narration  various,  yet  of  one  colour :  the  purity 
and  chastity  of  diction  is  so  preserved,  that  in  the  places 
most  suspicious,  not  the  words  but  only  the  images  have 
been  censured,  and  yet  are  those  images  no  other  than 
have  been  sanctified  by  ancient  and  classical  authority, 
{though,  as  was  the  manner  of  those  good  times,  not  so 
furiously  wrapped  up)  yea,  and  commented  upon  by  most 
grave  doctors,  and  approved  critics. 

As  it  beareth  the  name  of  epic,  it  is  thereby  subjected  to 
such  severe  indispensable  rules  as  are  laid  on  all  neoterics, 
a  strict  imitation  of  the  ancients ;  insomuch,  that  any  de- 
viation, accompanied  with  whatever  poetic  beauties,  hath 
always  been  censured  by  the  sound  critic.  How  exact  that 
imitation  hath  been  in  this  piece,  appeareth  not  only  by  its 
general  structure,  but  by  particular  allusions  infinite,  many 
whereof  have  escaped  both  the  commentator  and  poet 
himself;  yea,  divers  by  his  exceeding  diligence  are  so 
altered  and  interwoven  with  the  rest,  that  several  have 
already  been,  and  more  will  be,  by  the  ignorant  abused,  as 
altogether  and  originally  his  own. 

In  a  word,  the  whole  poem  proveth  itself  to  be  the  work 
of  our  Author,  when  his  faculties  were  in  full  vigour  and 
perfection ;  at  that  exact  time  when  years  have  ripened 
the  judgment,  without  diminishing  the  imagination :  which, 
by  good  critics,  is  held  to  be  punctually  at  forty.  For  at 
that  season  it  was  that  Virgil  finished  his  Georgics;  and 
Sir  Richard  Blackmore  at  the  like  age  composing  his 
Arthurs,  declared  the  same  to  be  the  very  acme  and  pitch 
of  life  for  epic  poesy:  though  since  he  hath  altered  it  to 
sixty,  the  year  in  which  he  published  his  Alfred.  True  it 
is,  that  the  talents  for  criticism,  namely,  smartness,  quick 
censure,  vivacity  of  remark,  certainty  of  asseveration ;  in- 
deed, all  but  acerbity,  seem  rather  the  gifts  of  youth  than 
of  riper  age.  But  it  is  far  otherwise  in  poetry;  witness 
the  works  of  Mr.  Rymer  and  Mr.  Dennis,  who,  beginning 
with  criticism,  became  afterwards  such  poets  as  no  age 
hath  paralleled.  With  good  reason,  therefore,  did  our 
author  choose  to  write  his  Essay  on  that  subject  at  twenty, 
and  reserve  for  his  maturer  years  this  great  and  wonderful 
work  of  the  Dunciad. 


XHJS   JJUNCIAD.  401 

EICARDUS  ARISTARCHUS 

OF 

THE  HERO  OF  THE   POEJI. 

OF  the  nature  of  Dunciad  in  general,  whence  derived, 
and  on  what  authority  founded,  as  well  as  of  the  art  and 
conduct  of  this  our  poem  in  particular,  the  learned  and 
laborious  Scriblerus  hath,  according  to  his  manner,  and 
with  tolerable  si  are  of  judgment,  dissertated.  But  when 
he  cometh  to  speak  of  the  person  of  the  hero  fitted  for  such 
poem,  in  truth  he  miserably  halts  and  hallucinates.  For 
misled  by  one  Monsieur  Bossu,  a,  Gallic  critic,  he  prateth 
of  I  cannot  tell  what  phantom  of  a  hero,  only  raised  up  to 
support  the  fable.  A  putrid  conceit !  as  if  Homer  and 
Virgil,  like  modern  undertakers,  who  first  build  their 
house  and  then  seek  out  for  a  tenant,  had  contrived  the 
story  of  a  war  and  a  wandering,  before  they  once  thought 
either  of  Achilles  or  ^Eneas.  We  shall  therefore  set  our 
good  brother  and  the  world  also  right  in  this  particular, 
by  giving  our  word,  that  in  the  greater  epic,  the  prime  in- 
vention of  the  muse  is  to  exalt  heroic  virtue,  in  order  to 
propagate  the  love  of  it  among  the  children  of  men ;  and 
consequently  that  the  poet's  first  thought  must  needs  be 
turned  upon  a  real  subject  meet  for  laud  and  celebration; 
not  one  whom  he  is  to  make,  but  one  whom  he  may  find, 
truly  illustrious.  This  is  the  primum  mobile  of  his  poetic 
world,  whence  everything  is  to  receive  life  and  motion. 
For  this  subject  being  found,  he  is  immediately  ordained, 
or  rather  acknowledged,  a  hero,  and  put  upon  such  action 
as  befitteth  the  dignity  of  his  character. 

But  the  muse  ceases  not  here  her  eagle-flight.  Some- 
times, satiated  with  the  contemplation  of  these  suns  of 
glory,  she  turneth  downward  on  her  wing,  and  darts  like 
lightning  on  the  goose  and  serpent  kind.  For  we  may 
apply  to  the  muse  in  her  various  moods,  what  an  ancient 
master  of  wisdom  affirmeth  of  the  gods  in  general :  Si  dii 
non  irascuntur  impiis  et  injustis,  nee  pios  utique  justosque 
diligunt.  In  rebus  enim  diversis,  aut  in  utramque  partem 
mover i  necesse  est,  aut  in  neutram.  Itaque  qui  bonos  ditigit, 
et  malos  odit;  et  qui  malos  non  odit,  nee  bonos  diligit.  Quiet 
et  diligere  bonoa  ex  odio  malorum  venit;  et  malos  odisse  ex 


402  THE   DUNCIAD. 

bonorum  caritate  descendit.  Which  in  the  vernacular 
idiom  may  be  thus  interpreted :  "  If  the  gods  be  not  pro- 
voked at  evil  men,  neither  are  they  delighted  with  the 
good  and  just.  For  contrary  objects  must  either  excite 
contrary  affections,  or  no  affections  at  all.  So  that  he  who 
loveth  good  men,  must  at  the  same  time  hate  the  bad;  and 
he  who  hateth  not  bad  men,  cannot  love  the  good ;  because 
to  love  good  men  proceedeth  from  an  aversion  to  evil,  and 
to  hate  evil  men  from  a  tenderness  to  the  good."  From 
this  delicacy  of  the  muse  arose  the  little  epic,  (more  lively 
and  choleric  than  her  elder  sister,  whose  bulk  and  com- 
plexion incline  her  to  the  flegmatic,)  and  for  this  some 
notorious  vehicle  of  vice  and  folly  was  sought  out,  to  make 
thereof  an  example.  An  early  instance  of  which,  (nor 
could  it  escape  the  accurate  Scriblerus)  the  father  of  epic 
poem  himself  affordeth  us.  From  him  the  practice  de- 
scended to  the  Greek  dramatic  poets,  his  offspring ;  who, 
in  the  composition  of  their  tetralogy,  or  set  of  four  pieces, 
were  wont  to  make  the  last  a  satiric  tragedy.  Happily  one 
of  these  ancient  Dunciads  (as  we  may  well  term  it)  is  come 
down  to  us  amongst  the  tragedies  of  Euripides.  And 
what  doth  the  reader  think  may  be  the  subject  1  Why 
truly,  and  it  is  worth  his  observation,  the  unequal  conten- 
tion of  an  old,  dull,  debauched,  buffoon  Cyclops,  with  the 
heaven-directed  favourite  of  Minerva ;  who,  after  having 
quietly  borne  all  the  monster's  obscene  and  impious 
ribaldry,  endeth  the  farce  in  punishing  him  with  the  mark 
of  an  indelible  brand  in  his  forehead.  May  we  not  then 
be  excused,  if  for  the  future  we  consider  the  epics  of 
Homer,  Virgil,  and  Milton,  together  with  this  our  poem, 
as  a  complete  tetralogy,  in  which  the  last  worthily  holdeth 
the  place  or  station  of  the  satiric  piece  1 

Proceed  we  therefore  in  our  subject.  It  hath  been  long, 
and,  alas  for  pity!  still  remaineth  a  question,  whether  the 
hero  of  the  greater  epic  should  be  an  honest  man?  or,  as 
the  French  critics  express  it,  un  honnete  homme;  but  it 
never  admitted  of  any  doubt  but  that  the  hero  of  the  little 
epic  should  not  be  so.  Hence,  to  the  advantage  of  our 
Dunciad,  we  may  observe  how  much  juster  the  moral  of 
that  poem  must  needs  be,  where  so  important  a  question 
is  previously  decided. 

But  then  it  is  not  every  knave,  nor  (let  me  add)  fool, 
that  is  a  fit  subject  for  a  Dunciad.  There  must  still  exist 
some  analogy,  if  not  resemblance  of  qualities,  between  the 


T1IK   DUKCIAD.  403 

heroes  of  the  two  poems :  and  this  in  order  to  admit  what 
neoteric  critics  call  the  parody,  one  of  the  liveliest  graces 
of  the  little  epic.  •  Thus,  it  being  agreed  that  the  constituent 
qualities  of  the  greater  epic  hero  are  wisdom,  bravery,  and 
love,  from  whence  springeth  heroic  virtue,  it  followeth  that 
those  of  the  lesser  epic  hero  should  be  vanity,  impudence, 
and  debauchery,  from  which  happy  assemblage  resulteth 
heroic  dulness,  the  never-dying  subject  of  this  our  Poem. 

This  being  confessed,  come  we  now  to  particulars.  It  is 
the  character  of  true  wisdom,  to  seek  its  chief  support  and 
confidence  within  itself ;  and  to  place  that  support  in  the 
resources  which  proceed  from  a  conscious  rectitude  of  will. 
— And  are  the  advantages  of  vanity,  when  arising  to  the 
heroic  standard,  at  all  short  of  this  self-complacence  I 
Nay,  are  they  not,  in  the  opinion  of  the  enamoured  owner, 
far  beyond  it  1  "  Let  the  world  (will  such  a  one  say)  im- 
pute to  me  what  folly  or  weakness  they  please ;  but  till 
wisdom  can  give  me  something  that  will  make  me  more 
heartily  happy,  I  am  content  to  be  GAZED  at."  This  we 
see  is  vanity  according  to  the  heroic  gage  or  measure ;  not 
that  low  and  ignoble  species  which  pretendeth  to  virtues 
we  have  not,  but  the  laudable  ambition  of  being  gazed  at 
for  glorying  in  those  vices  which  all  the  world  know  we 
have.  "  The  world  may  ask,"  says  he,  "  why  I  make  my 
follies  public  1  Why  not  ?  I  have  passed  my  time  very 
pleasantly  with  them."  In  short,  there  is  no  sort  of  vanity 
such  a  hero  would  scruple,  but  that  which  might  go  near 
to  degrade  him  from  his  high  station  in  this  our  Dunciad ; 
namely,  "  whether  it  would  not  be  vanity  in  him,  to  take 
shame  to  himself  for  not  being  a  wise  man?" 

Bravenj,  the  second  attribute  of  the  true  hero,  is  courage, 
manifesting  itself  in  every  limb ;  while,  in  its  correspondent 
virtue  in  the  mock  hero,  that  courage  is  all  collected  into 
the  face.  And  as  power  when  drawn  together,  must  needs 
be  more  strong  than  when  dispersed,  we  generally  find 
this  kind  of  courage  in  so  high  and  heroic  a  degree,  that  it 
insults  not  only  men,  but  gods.  Mezentius  is  without 
doubt  the  bravest  character  in  all  the  ^Eneis ;  but  how  ? 
His  bravery,  we  know,  was  a  high  courage  of  blasphemy. 
And  can  we  say  less  of  this  brave  man's,  who,  having  told 
us  that  he  placed  "  his  summum  bonum  in  those  follies, 
which  he  was  not  content  barely  to  possess  but  would 
likewise  glory  in,"  adds,  "If  I  am  misguided,  'TIS  NATURE'S 
FAULT,  and  /  follow  HER."  Nor  can  we  be  mistaken  in 


404  THE   DUNCIAD. 

making  this  happy  quality  a  species  of  courage,  when  we 
consider  those  illustrious  marks  of  it,  which  made  his  face 
"  more  known  (as  he  justly  boasteth)  than  most  in  the 
kingdom,"  and  his  language  to  consist  of  what  we  must 
allow  to  be  the  most  daring  figure  of  speech,  that  which 
is  taken  from  the  name  of  God. 

Gentle  love,  the  next  ingredient  in  the  true  hero's  com- 
position, is  a  mere  bird  of  passage,  or  (as  Shakspeare  calls 
it)  summer-teeming  lust,  and  evaporates  in  the  heat  of 
youth;  doubtless  by  that  refinement  it  suflers  in  passing 
through  those  certain  strainers  which  our  poet  somewhere 
speaketh  of.  But  when  it  is  let  alone  to  work  upon  the 
lees,  it  acquireth  strength  by  old  age:  and  becometli  a 
standing  ornament  to  the  little  epic.  It  is  true,  indeed, 
there  is  one  objection  to  its  fitness  for  such  a  use :  for  not 
only  the  ignorant  may  think  it  common,  but  it  is  admitted 
to  be  so,  even  by  him  who  best  knoweth  its  nature. 
"Don't  you  think,"  saith  he,  "to  say  only  a  man  has  his 
whore,  ought  to  go  for  little  or  nothing  ]  Because  defendit 
numerus,  take  the  first  ten  thousand  men  you  meet,  and  I 
believe  you  would  be  no  loser  if  you  betted  ten  to  one,  that 
every  single  sinner  of  them,  one  with  another,  had  been 
guilty  of  the  same  frailty."  But  here  he  seemeth  not  to 
have  done  himself  justice:  the  man  is  sure  enough  a  hero 
who  hath  his  lady  at  fourscore.  How  doth  his  modesty 
herein  lessen  the  merit  of  a  whole  well-spent  life :  not  taking 
to  himself  the  commendation  (which  Horace  accounted  the 
greatest  in  a  theatrical  character)  of  continuing  to  the  very 
dregs  the  same  he  was  from  the  beginning — 

Serretur  ad  IMUM 
Qitalis  ab  incepto  processerat 

But  let  us  farther  remark,  that  the  calling  her  his  whore, 
implieth  she  was  his  own,  and  not  his  wiylibours.  Truly 
a  commendable  continence !  and  such  as  Scipio  himself 
must  have  applauded.  For  how  much  self-denial  was 
necessary  not  to  covet  his  neighbour's  whore  ?  and  what 
disorders  must  the  coveting  her  have  occasioned,  in  that 
society,  where  (according  to  this  political  calculator)  nine 
in  ten  of  all  ages  have  their  concubines? 

We  have  now,  as  briefly  as  we  could  devise,  gone  through 
the  three  constituent  qualities  of  either  hero.  But  it  is 
not  in  any,  or  all  of  these,  that  heroism  properly  or  essen- 
tially resideth.  It  is  a,  lucky  result  rather  from  the  col- 


THE  DUNCIAD.  405 

lision  of  these  lively  qualities  against  one  another.  Thus, 
as  from  wisdom,  bravery,  and  love,  ariseth  magnanimity, 
thqtobject  of  admiration,  which  is  the  aim  of  the  greater 
epic ;  sR  from  vanity,  impudence,  and  debauchery,  springeth 
buffoonery,  the  source  of  ridicule,  that  "laughing  orna- 
ment," as  he  well  termeth  it,  of  the  little  epic. 

He  is  not  ashamed  (God  forbid  he  ever  should  be 
ashamed  !)  of  this  character,  who  deemeth,  that  not  reason 
but  risibility  distinguisheth  the  human  species  from  the 
brutal.  "As  nature  (saith  this  profound  philosopher)  dis- 
tinguished our  species  from  the  mute  creation  by  our 
risibility,  her  design  MUST  have  been  by  that  faculty  as 
evidently  to  raise  our  HAPPINESS,  as  by  OUR  os  sublime  (OUR 
ERECTED  FACES)  to  lift  the  dignity  of  our  FORM  above  them." 
All  this  considered,  how  complete  a  hero  must  he  be,  as 
well  as  how  happy  a  man,  whose  risibility  lieth  not  barely 
in  his  muscles  as  in  the  common  sort,  but  (as  himself  in- 
formeth  us)  in  his  very  spirits?  And  whose  os  sublime  is 
not  simply  an  erect  face,  but  a  brazen  head,  as  should  seem 
by  his  comparing  it  with  one  of  iron,  said  to  belong  to  the 
late  king  of  Sweden  ! 

But  whatever  personal  qualities  a  hero  may  have,  the 
examples  of  Achilles  and  ./Eneas  show  us,  that  all  those 
are  of  small  avail,  without  the  constant  assistance  of  the 
GODS:  for  the  subversion  and  erection  of  empires  have 
never  been  judged  the  work  of  man.  How  greatly  soever 
then  we  may  esteem  of  his  high  talents,  we  can  hardly 
conceive  his  personal  prowess  alone  sufficient  to  restore 
the  decayed  empire  of  Dulness.  So  weighty  an  achieve- 
ment must  require  the  particular  favour  and  protection  of 
the  GREAT  ;  who  being  the  natural  patrons  and  supporters 
of  letters,  as  the  ancient  gods  were  of  Troy,  must  first  be 
drawn  off  and  engaged  in  another  interest,  before  the  total 
subversion  of  them  can  be  accomplished.  To  surmount, 
therefore,  this  last  and  greatest  difficulty,  we  have  in  this 
excellent  man  a  professed  favourite  and  iutimado  of  the 
great.  And  look  of  what  force  ancient  piety  was  to  draw 
the  gods  into  the  party  of  ^Eneas,  that,  and  much  stronger 
is  modern  incense,  to  engage  the  great  in  the  party  of 
Dulness. 

Thus  have  we  essayed  to  portray  cr  shadow  out  this 
noble  imp  of  fame.  But  now  the  impatient  reader  will  be 
apt  to  say,  if  so  many  and  various  gra<>eo  go  to  the  making 
up  a  hero,  what  mortal  shall  suffice  to  b<:ar  this  character  1 


406  THE    DUXCIAD. 

Ill  hath  he  read,  who  sees  not  in  every  trace  of  this  pic- 
ture, that  individual,  ALL-ACCOMPLISHED  PERSON,  in  whom 
these  rare  virtues  and  lucky  circumstances  have  agreed*to 
meet  and  concentre  with  the  strongest  lustre  and  fullest 
harmony. 

The  good  Scriblerus  indeed,  nay,  the  world  itself,  might 
be  imposed  on  in  the  late  spurious  editions,  by  I  can't  tell 
what  sham-hero,  or  phantom:  But  it  was  not  so  easy  to 
impose  on  HIM  whom  this  egregious  error  most  of  all  con- 
cerned. For  no  sooner  had  the  fourth  book  laid  open  the 
high  and  swelling  scene,  but  he  recognised  his  own  heroic 
acts :  And  when  he  came  to  the  words, 

Soft  on  her  lap  her  Laureat  son  reclines, 

(though  laureat  imply  no  more  than  one  crowned  with 
laurel,  as  befitteth  any  associate  or  consort  in  empire)  he 
ROARED  (like  a  lion)  and  VINDICATED  HIS  RIGHT  OF  FAME. 
Indeed  not  without  cause,  he  being  there  represented  as 
fast  asleep;  so  unbeseeming  the  eye  of  empire,  which,  like 
that  of  Providence,  should  never  slumber.  "  Hah !"  said 
he,  "  fast  asleep  it  seems  !  that's  a  little  too  strong.  Pert 
and  dull  at  least  you  might  have  allowed  me,  but  as  seldom 
asleep  as  any  fool."  However,  the  injured  hero  may  com- 
fort himself  with  this  reflection,  that  though  it  be  sleep,  yet 
it  is  not  the  sleep  of  death,  but  of  immortality.  Here  he  will 
live  at  least,  though  not  awake;  and  in  no  worse  condition 
than  many  an  enchanted  warrior  before  him.  The  famous 
Dunvndarte,  for  instance,  was,  like  him,  cast  into  a  long 
slumber  by  Merlin,  the  British  bard  and  necromancer ;  and 
his  example  for  submitting  to  it  with  so  good  a  grace  might 
be  of  use  to  our  hero.  For  this  disastrous  knight  being 
sorely  pressed  or  driven  to  make  his  answer  by  several 
persons  of  quality,  only  replied  with  a  sigh,  Patience,  and 
shuffle  the  cards. 

But  now,  as  nothing  in  this  world,  no,  not  the  most  sacred 
or  perfect  things  either  of  religion  or  government,  can 
escape  the  teeth  or  tongue  of  envy,  methinks  I  already 
hear  these  carpers  objecting  to  the  clear  title  of  our 
hero. 

"It  would  never,"  say  they,  "have  been  esteemed 
sufficient  to  make  a  hero  for  the  Iliad  or  ^Eneis,  that 
Achilles  was  brave  enough  to  overturn  one  empire,  or 
•£Cneas  pious  enough  to  raise  another,  had  they  not  been 
goddess-born  and  princes  bred.  What  then  did  this  author 


TU2   DUXUIAD.  407 

mean  by  erecting  a  player  instead  of  one  of  his  patrons, 
(a  person '  never  a  hero  evon  on  the  stage')  to  this  dignity 
of  colleague  in  the  empire  of  Dulness,  and  achiever  of  a 
work  that  neither  old  Omar,  Attila,  nor  John  of  Leydeu 
could  entirely  compass." 

To  all  this  we  have,  as  we  conceive,  a  sufficient  answer 
from  the  Roman  historian,  Fabrum  esse  mce  quemque 
fortunes:  Every  man  is  the  Smith  of  his  own  fortune.  The 
politic  Florentine  Nicholas  Machiavel  goeth  still  farther, 
and  affirms  that  a  man  needs  but  to  believe  himself  a  hero  to 
be  one  of  the  best.  "  Let  him,"  saith  he,  "  but  fancy  him- 
self capable  of  the  highest  things,  and  he  will  of  course  be 
able  to  achieve  them."  Laying  this  down  as  a  principle,  it 
will  certainly  and  incontestably  follow,  that,  if  ever  hero 
was  such  a  character,  OURS  is  :  for  if  ever  man  thought  him- 
self such,  OURS  doth.  Hear  how  he  constantly  paragons 
himself,  at  one  time  to  ALEXANDER  THE  GREAT  and 
CHARLES  XII.  of  Sweden,  for  the  excess  and  delicacy  of 
his  ambition;  to  HENRY  IV.  of  France,  for  honest  policy; 
to  the  first  BRUTUS  for  love  of  liberty ;  and  to  SIR  ROBERT 
WALPOLE,  for  good  government  while  in  power.  At 
.another  time,  to  the  godlike  SOCRATES,  for  his  diversions 
and  amusements;  to  HORACE,  MONTAIGNE,  and  SIR 
WILLIAM  TEMPLE,  for  an  elegant  vanity  that  makes  them 
for  ever  read  and  admired;  to  TWO  LORD  CHANCELLORS,  for 
law,  from  whom,  when  confederate  against  him  at  the  bar, 
he  carried  away  the  prize  of  eloquence ;  and,  to  say  all  in 
a  word,  to  the  right  reverend  the  LORD  BISHOP  OF  LONDON 
himself,  in  the  art  of  writing  pastoral  letters. 

Nor  did  his  actions  fall  short  of  the  sublimity  of  his  con- 
ceptions. In  his  early  youth  he  met  the  revolution  at 
Nottingham  face  to  face,  at  a  time  when  his  betters  con- 
tented themselves  with  following  her.  But  he  shone  in 
courts  as  well  as  cainps.  He  was  catted  up  when  the  nation 
fell  in  labour  of  this  revolution,  and  was  a  gossip  at  her 
christening  with  the  bishop  and  the  ladies. 

As  to  his  birth,  it  is  true  he  pretendeth  no  relation  either 
to  heathen  god  or  goddess ;  but,  what  is  as  good,  he  was 
descended  from  a  maker  of  both.  And  that  he  did  not  pass 
himself  on  the  world  for  a  hero,  as  well  by  birth  as  educa- 
tion, was  his  own  fault ;  for  his  lineage  he  bringeth  into 
his  life  as  an  anecdote,  and  is  sensible  he  had  it  in  his  power 
to  be  thought  nobody's  son,  at  all:  and  what  is  that  but 
coming  into  the  world  a  hero  1 


408  THE   DUKCIAD. 

There  is  in  truth  another  objection  of  greater  -weight, 
namely,  "  That  this  hero  still  existeth,  and  hath  not  yet 
finished  his  earthly  course.  For  if  Solon  said  well,  that 
'  no  man  could  be  called  happy  till  his  death,'  surely  much 
less  can  any  one,  till  then,  be  pronounced  a  hero;  this 
species  of  men  being  tar  more  subject  than  others  to  the 
caprices  of  fortune  and  humour."  But  to  this  also  we  have 
an  answer,  that  will  be  deemed  (we  hope)  decisive.  It 
cometh  from  himself,  who,  to  cut  this  dispute  short,  hath 
solemnly  protested  that  he  will  never  change  or  amend. 

With  regard  to  his  vanity,  he  d.eclareth  that  nothing 
shall  ever  part  them.  "  Nature,"  saith  he,  "  hath  amply 
supplied  me  in  vanity ;  a  pleasure  which  neither  the  pert- 
ness  of  wit  nor  the  gravity  oi  wisdom  will  ever  persuade 
me  to  part  with."  Our  poet  had  charitably  endeavoured 
to  administer  a  cure  to  it,  but  he  telleth  us  plainly,  "  My 
superiors  perhaps  may  be  mended  by  him,  but  for  my  part 
I  own  myself  incorrigible.  I  look  upon  my  follies  as  the 
best  part  of  my  fortune."  And  with  good  reason. — We  see 
to  what  they  have  brought  him ! 

Secondly,  as  to  buffoonery.  "Is  it,"  saith  he,  "a  time 
of  day  for  me  to  leave  off  these  fooleries,  and  set  up  a  new 
character  ?  I  can  no  more  put  off  my  follies  than  my  skin ; 
I  have  often  tried,  but  they  stick  too  close  to  me ;  nor  am 
I  sure  my  friends  are  displeased  with  them,  for  in  this  light 
I  afford  them  frequent  matter  of  mirth,"  &c.  &c.  Having 
then  so  publicly  declared  himself  incorrigible,  he  is  become 
dead  in  law,  (I  mean  the  law  Epopceiari)  and  descendeth  to 
the  poet  as  his  property,  who  may  take  him,  and  deal  with 
him,  as  if  he  had  been  dead  as  long  as  an  old  Egyptian 
hero  ;  that  is  to  say,  embowel  and  embalm  him  for  posterity. 

Nothing  therefore,  we  conceive,  remains  to  hinder  his 
own  prophecy  of  himself  from  taking  immediate  effect.  A 
rare  felicity  !  and  what  few  prophets  have  had  the  satis- 
faction to  see  alive  !  Nor  can  we  conclude  better  than  with 
that  extraordinary  one  of  his,  which  is  conceived  in  these 
oraculous  words,  MY  DULNESS  WILL  FIND  SOMEBODY  TO  DO 

IT  EIGHT. 


409 

THE  DtnSTCIAD. 
•O  DB.  JONAT'HAN  SWIFT. 

BOOK  THE  FIRST 

~ARGUMENT. 

The  Proposition,  the  Invocation,  and  the  Inscription.  Then  the 
original  of  the  great  empire  of  Dulnest,  and  cause  of  the  continuance 
thereof.  The  College  of  the  Goddest  in  the  City,  with  her  private 
Academy  for  poets  in  particular;  the  governors  of  it,  and  the  four 
Cardinal  Virtues.  Then  the  Poem  Aaste*  into  the  midst  of  things,  pre- 
senting her,  on  the  evening  of  a  Lord  Mayor's  day,  revolving  the  long 
succession  of  her  sons,  and  the  glories  past  and  to  come.  She  fixes  her 
eye  on  Bayt  to  be  the  instrument  of  that  great  event  which  is  the 
subject  of  the  poem.  He  is  described  pensive  among  his  books,  giving 
up  the  cause,  and  apprehending  the  period  of  her  empire :  after  debating 
Whether  to  betake  himself  to  the  Church,  or  to  Gaming,  or  to  Party- 
writing,  he  raises  an  altar  of  proper  books,  and  (making  "first  his  solemn 
prayer  and  declaration)  purposes  thereon  to  sacrifice  all  his  unsuccessful 
writings.  As  the  pile  is  kindled,  the  Goddess,  beholding  the  flame  from 
her  seat,  flies  and  puts  it  out  by  casting  upon  it  the  poem  of  Thute 
She  forthwith  reveals  herself  to  him,  transports  him  to  her  temple, 
unfolds  her  arts,  and  initiates  him  into  her  mysteries;  then  announcing 
the  death  of  Eusden,  the  Poet  Laureate,  anoints  him,  carries  him  to 
court,  and  proclaims  him  successor. 


THE  mighty  mother,  and  her  son  who  brings 
The  Smithfield  muses'  to  the  ear  of  kings, 
T  sing.     Say  you,  her  instruments  the  great ! 
Call'd  to  this  work  by  Dulness,  Jove,  and  Fate; 
You  by  whose  care,  in  vain  decried  and  curs'd, 
Still  Dunce  the  second  reigns  like  Dunce  the  first; 
Say  how  the  goddess  bade  Britannia  sleep, 
And  pour'd  her  spirit  o'er  the  land  and  deep. 

I  Smithfield  is  the  place  where  Bartholomew  Fair  was  kept,  whose 
shows,  machines,  and  dramatical  entertainments,  formerly  agreeable 
only  to  the  taste  of  the  rabble,  were,  by  the  hero  of  this  poem  and 
others  of  equal  genius,  brought  to  the  theatres  of  Covent-Garden, 
Lincoln's-Inn-fields,  and  the  Haymarket,  to  be  the  reigning  pleasures 
of  the  court  and  town.  This  happened  in  the  reigns  of  King  George  I. 

36* 


410  THE   DUNCIAD. 

In  eldest  time,  ere  mortals  writ  or  read, 
Ere  Pallas  issued  from  the  Thunderer's  head, 
Dulness  o'er  all  possess'd  her  ancient  right, 
Daughter  of  Chaos  and  eternal  Night: 
Fate  in  their  dotage  this  fair  idiot  gave, 
Gross  as  her  sire,  and  as  her  mother  grave, 
Laborious,  heavy,  busy,  bold,  and  blind, 
She  ruled,  in  native  anai-chy,  the  mind. 

Still  her  old  empire  to  restore  she  tries, 
For,  born  a  goddess,  Dulness  never  dies. 

O  thou  !  whatever  title  please  thine  ear, 
Dean,  Drapier,  Bickerstaff,  or  Gulliver ! 
"Whether  thou  choose  Cervantes'  serious  air, 
Or  laugh  and  shake  in  Rabelais'  easy  chair, 
Or  praise  the  court,  or  magnify  mankind, 
Or  thy  grieved  country's  copper  chains  unbind ; 
From  thy  Bceotia  though  her  power  retires, 
Mourn  not,  my  Swift,  at  aught  our  realm  acquires, 
Here  pleased  behold  her  mighty  wings  outspread 
To  hatch  a  new  Saturnian  age  of  lead. 

Close  to  those  walls  where  Folly  holds  her  throne, 
And  laughs  to  think  Monro  would  take  her  down, 
Where  o'er  the  gates,  by  his  famed  fathei-'s  hand1 
Great  Gibber's  brazen  brainless  brothers  stand ; 
One  cell  there  is,  conceal'd  from  vulgar  eye, 
The  cave  of  Poverty  and  Poetry. 
Keen  hollow  winds  howl  thro'  the  bleak  recess, 
Emblem  of  music  caus'd  by  emptiness. 
Hence  bards,  like  Proteus  long  in  vain  tied  down, 
Escape  in  monsters,  and  amaze  the  town. 
Hence  Miscellanies  spring,  the  weekly  boast 
Of  Curl's  chaste  press,  and  Lintot's  rubric  post:3 
Hence  hymning  Tyburn's  elegiac  lines,3 
Hence  Journals,  Medleys,  Merc'ries,  Magazines, 

1  Mr.  Caius  Gabriel  Cibber,  father  of  the  poet  laureate.  The  two 
statues  of  the  lunatics  formerly  placed  over  the  gates  of  Bedlam  Hospital 
were  done  by  him,  and  (as  the  son  justly  says  of  him)  are  no  ill  monu- 
ments of  his  fame  as  an  artist. 

8  Two  booksellers.  The  former  was  fined  by  the  Court  of  King's 
Bench  for  publishing  obscene  books ;  the  latter  usually  adorned  hia  shop 
with  titles  in  red  letters. 

It  was  an  ancient  F^nglish  custom  for  the  malefactors  to  sing  a  psalm 
at  their  execution  at  Tyburn,  and  no  less  customary  to  print  elegies  on 
their  deaths,  at  the  same  time,  or  before. 


THE   DUKCIAD.  411 

Sepulchral  lies,  our  holy  walls  to  grace, 

And  new-year  odes,  and  all  the  Grub-street  race. 

In  clouded  majesty  here  Dulness  shone; 
Four  guardian  Virtues,  round,  support  her  throne: 
Fierce  champion  Fortitude,  that  knows  no  fears 
Of  hisses,  blows,  or  want,  or  loss  of  ears: 
Calm  Temperance,  whose  blessings  those  partake 
Who  hunger  and  who  thirst  for  scribbling  sake : 
Prudence,  whose  glass  presents  the  approaching  gaol; 
Poetic  Justice,  with  her  lifted  scale, 
Where,  hi  nice  balance,  truth  with  gold  she  weighs, 
And  solid  pudding  against  empty  praise. 

Here  she  beholds  the  chaos  dark  and  deep, 
Where  nameless  somethings  hi  their  causes  sleep, 
Til  genial  Jacob,1  or  a  warm  third  day, 
Call  forth  each  mass,  a  poem,  or  a  play : 
How  hints,  like  spawn,  scarce  quick  in  embryo  lie, 
How  new-born  nonsense  first  is  taught  to  cry ; 
Maggots  half-form'd  in  rhyme  exactly  meet, 
And  learn  to  crawl  upon  poetic  feet. 
Here  one  poor  word  an  hundred  clenches  makes, 
And  ductile  Dulness  new  meanders  takes; 
There  motley  images  her  fancy  strike, 
Figures  ill  pair'd,  and  similes  unlike. 
She  sees  a  mob  of  metaphors  advance, 
Pleased  with  the  madness  of  the  mazy  dance: 
How  Tragedy  and  Comedy  embrace  ; 
How  Farce  and  Epic  get  a  jumbled  race ; 
How  Time  himself  stands  still  at  her  command, 
Realms  shift  their  place,  and  ocean  turns  to  laud. 
Here  gay  description  .^Egypt  glads  with  showers,2 
Or  gives  to  Zembla  fruits,  to  Barca  flowers ; 
Glittering  with  ice  here  hoary  hills  are  seen, 
There  painted  valleys  of  eternal  green, 
In  cold  December  fragrant  chaplets  blow, 
And  heavy  harvests  nod  beneath  the  snow. 

All  these,  and  more,  the  cloud-compelling  queen 
Beholds  through  fogs,  that  magnify  the  scene : 

1  Jacob  Tonson,  the  publisher. 

2  In  tlie  Lower  ^Egypt  rain  is  of  no  nse,  the  overflowing  of  the  Nile 
being  sufficient  to  impregnate  the  soil. — These  six  verses  represent  the 
inconsistencies  in  the  descriptions  of  poets,  who   heap   together   al 
glittering  and  gaudy  images,  though  incompatible  in  one  season,  or  in 
one  scene. 


412  THE   DUKCIAD. 

She,  tinsel'd  o'er  in  robes  of  varying  hues, 
With  self-applause  her  wild  creation  views; 
Sees  momentary  monsters  rise  and  tall, 
And  with  her  own  tools-colours  gilds  them  all. 
'Twas  on  the  day,  when  *  *  rich  and  grave,1 
Like  Cimon,  triumph'd  both  on  land  and  wave: 
(Pomps  without  guilt,  of  bloodless  swords  and  maces. 
Glad  chains,  warm  furs,  broad  banners,  and  broad  laces :) 
Now  night  descending,  the  proud  scene  was  o'er, 
But  lived,  in  Settle's  numbers,  one  day  more  :2 
Now  mayors  and  shrieves  all  hush'd  and  satiate  lay, 
Yet  eat,  in  dreams,  the  custard  of  the  day; 
While  pensive  poets  painful  vigils  keep, 
Sleepless  themselves,  to  give  their  readers  sleep. 
Much  to  the  mindful  queen  the  feast  recals 
What  city  swans  once  sung  within  the  walls; 
Much  she  revolves  their  arts,  their  ancient  praise, 
And  sure  succession  down  from  Heywood's  days,3 
She  saw,  with  joy,  the  line  immortal  run, 
Each  sire  impress'd  and  glaring  in  his  son: 
So  watchful  Bruin  forms,  with  plastic  care, 
Each  growing  lump,  and  brings  it  to  a  bear, 
She  saw  old  Prynne  in  restless  Daniel  shine,4 
And  Eusden*  eke  out  Blackmore's  endless  line; 

1  Viz.,  a  Lord  Mayor's  day ;  his  name  the  author  had  left  in  blanks, 
but  most  certainly  could  never  be  that  which  the  editor  foisted  in 
formerly,  and  which  no  ways  agrees  with  the  chronology  of  the  poem. 

The  procession  of  a  Lord  Mayor  is  made  partly  by  land,  and  partly 
by  water. — Cimon,  the  famous  Athenian  general,  obtained  a  victory  by 
sea,  and  another  by  land,  on  the  same  day,  over  the  Persians  and  bar- 
barians. 

2  Settle  was  poet  to  the  city  of  London.    His  office  was  to  compose 
yearly  panegyrics  upon  the  Lord  Mayors,  and  verses  to  be  spoken  in 
the  pageants;  but  that  part  of  the  show  being  at  length   frugally 
abolished,  the  employment  of  city  poet  ceased,  so  that  upon  Settle's 
demise  there  was  no  successor  to  that  place.     His  productions  are  care- 
fully preserved  in  the  City  library. 

3  John  Heywood,  whose  interludes   were  printed  in  the  time  of 
Henry  VIII. 

*  The  first  edition  had  it, 

She  saw  in  Norton  all  his  father  thine. 

A  great  mistake;  for  Daniel  De  Foe  had  parts,  but  Norton  de  Foe  was 
a  wretched  writer,  and  never  attempted  poetry.  Much  more  justly  is 
Daniel  himself  made  successor  to  W.  Prynne,  both  of  whom  wrote 
verses  as  well  as  politics. 

6  Laurence  Eusden,  poet  laureate.  Mr.  Jacob  gives  a  catalogue  of 
sorno  few  only  of  hia  works,  which  were  very  numerous. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  413 

She  saw  slow  Phillips  creep  like  Tate's  poor  page, 
And  all  the  mighty  mad  in  Dennis2  rage. 

In  each  she  marks  her  image  full  express'd, 
But  chief  in  Bays's  monster-breeding  breast ; 
Bays,  form'd  by  nature  stage  and  town  to  bless, 
And  act,  and  be,  a  coxcomb,  with  success. 
Dulness  with  transport  eyes  the  lively  dunce, 
Remembering  she  herself  was  Pertness  once. 
Now  (shame  to  Fortune  !)  an  ill  rim  at  play 
Blank'd  his  bold  visage,  and  a  thin  third  day: 
Swearing  and  supperless  the  hero  sate, 
Blasphemed  his  gods,  the  dice,  and  damn'd  his  fate. 
Then  gnaw'd  his  pen,  then  dash'd  it  on  the  ground, 
Sinking  from  thought  to  thought,  a  vast  profound ! 
Plunged  for  his  sense,  but  found  no  bottom  there, 
Yet  wrote  and  flounder'd  on,  in  mere  despair. 
Round  him  much  embryo,  much  abortion  lay, 
Much  future  ode,  and  abdicated  play ; 
Nonsense  precipitate,  like  running  lead, 
That  slipp'd  through  cracks  and  zig-zags  at  the  head; 
All  that  on  Folly  Frenzy  could  beget, 
Fruits  of  dull  heat,  .and  sooterkins  of  wit. 
Next,  o'er,  his  books  his  eyes  began  to  roll, 
In  pleasing  memory  of  all  he  stole, 
How  here  he  sipp'd,  how  there  he  pluuder'd  snug, 
And  suck'd  all  o'er,  like  an  industrious  bug. 
Here  lay  poor  Fletcher's  half-eat  scenes,  and  here 
The  frippery  of  crucified  Moliere ; 
There  hapless  Shakspcare,  yet  of  Tibbald  sore, 
Wish'd  he  had  blotted  for  himself  before. 
The  rest  on  outside  merit  but  presume, 
Or  serve  (like  other  fools)  to  fill  a  room ; 
Such  with  their  shelves  as  due  proportion  hold, 
Or  their  fond  parents  dress'd  in  red  and  gold; 
Or  where  the  pictures  for  the  page  atone, 
And  Quarles  is  saved  by  beauties  not  his  own. 

1  Nahum  Tate  was  poet  laureate,  a  cold  writer,  of  no  invention;  but 
sonu-times  translated  tolerably  when  befriended  by  Mr.  Dryden. 

2  Mr.  John  Dennis  was  the  son  of  a  saddler  in  London,  born  in  1657. 
He  paid  court  to  Mr.  I>ryden ;  and  having  obtained  some  correspondence 
with  Mr.  Wycherley  and  Mr.  Congreve,  he  immediately  obliged  the 
public  with  their  letters.    He  made  himself  known  to  the  government 
by  many  admirable   schemes   and  projects,  which   the  ministry,  for 
reasons  best  known  to  themselves,  constantly  kept  private. 


414  THE   DU^CIAD. 

Here  swells  the  shelf  with  Ogilby  the  great;1 
There,  stamp'd  with  arms,  Newcastle2  shines  complete: 
Here  all  his  suffering  brotherhood  retire, 
•  And  'scape  the  martyrdom  of  jakes  and  fire: 
A  Gothic  library !  of  Greece  and  Rome 
Well  purged,  and  worthy  Settle,3  Banks  and  Broome. 

But,  high  above,  more  solid  learning  shone, 
The  classics  of  an  age  that  heard  of  none ; 
There  Caxton4  slept,  with  Wynkyn  at  his  side, 
One  clasp'd  in  wood,  and  one  in  strong  cow-hide ; 
There,  saved  by  spice,  like  mummies,  many  a  year, 
Dry  bodies  of  divinity  appear. 
De  Lyra5  there  a  dreadful  front  extends, 
And  here  the  groaning  shelves  Philemon6  bends. 

Of  these  twelve  volumes,  twelve  of  amplest  size, 
Redeem'd  from  tapers  and  defrauded  pies, 
Inspired  he  seizes  :  these  an  altar  raise : 
An  hecatomb  of  pure  unsullied  lays 
That  altar  crowns  :  a  folio  common-place 
Founds  the  whole  pile,  of  all  his  works  the  base : 

1  "John  Ogilby  was  one,  who,  from  a  late  initiation  into  literature, 
made  such  a  progress  as  might  well  style  him  the  prodigy  of  his  time 
in  sending  into  the  world  so  many  large  volumes!" 

2  "  The  Dttchess  of  Ken-castle  was  one  who   busied  herself  in   the 
ravishing  delights  of  poetry ;  leaving  to  posterity  in  print  three  ample 
rolumet  of  her  studious  endeavours."     Langbaine  reckons  up  eight  folios 
of  her  Grace's;  which  were  usually  adorned  with  gilded  covers,  and  had 
her  coat  of  arms  upon  them. 

3  The  poet  has  mentioned  these  three  authors  in  particular,  as  they 
are  parallel  to  our  heroin  his  three  capacities:  1.  Settle  was  his  brother 
laureate:  only  indeed  upon  half-pay,  for  the  city  instead  of  the  court; 
but  equally  famous  for  unintelligible  flights  in   his  poems  on  public 
occasions,  such  as  shows,  birth-days,  &c.     2.  Banks  was  his  rival  in 
tragedy,  though  more  successful  in  one  of  his  tragedies,  the   Earl  of 
Etsex,  which  is  yet  alive :   Anna  Soleyn,  the   Ques-n  of  Scots,  and  Cynu 
the  Great,  are  dead  and  gone.     Those  he  dressed  in  a  sort  of  bcggar'i 
velvet,  or  a  happy  mixture  of  the  thick  fustian  and  tliin  prosaic;  exactly 
imitated  in  Perollaand  hidora,  Cct.«tr  in  E^rypt,  and  the  Heroic  Daughter. 
3.  Broome  was  a  serving -man  of  Ben  Jouson,  who  once  picked  up  a 
comedy  from  his  betters,  or  from  some  cast  scenes  of  his  master,  not 
entirely  contemptible. 

•»  A  printer  in  the  time  of  Ed.  IV.,  Tiich.  III.,  and   Hen.  VII.; 
Wynkyn  de  Worde,  his  successor,  in  that  of  Hen.  VII.  and  VIII. 

5  Vich.  de  Lyra,  or  Harpsfield,  a  very  voluminous  commentator,  whose 
works,  in  five  vast  folios,  were  printed  in  1472. 

6  Philemon  Holland,  doctor  in  physic.     He  translated  10  many  bookt, 
that  a  man  would  think  he  had  done  nothing  else,  insomuch  that  he 
might  be  called  trantlator  general  of  hit  age. 


THE   DUNCIAD. 


Quartos,  octavos,  shape  the  lessening  pyre- 
A  twisted  birth-day  ode  completes  the  spire 
Then  he:  Great  tamer  of  all  human  art!  ' 
First  in  my  care,  and  ever  at  my  heart  • 
Dulness  !  whose  good  old  cause  I  yet  defend 

shall  end- 


an       a 

O  thou!  of  business  the  directing  soul! 
To  this  our  head  like  bias  to  the  bowl  " 
Which,  as  more  ponderous,  made  its  aim  more  true, 
Obliquely  waddling  to  the  mark  in  view 
)!  ever  gracious  to  perplex'd  mankind  ' 
Still  spread  a  healing  mist  before  the  mind- 
And  lest  we  err  by  wit's  wild  danciu"  light, 
becure  us  kindly  in  our  native  night. 
Or,  if  to  wit  a  coxcomb  make  pretence 
Guard  the  sure  barrier  between  that  and  sense- 


— ,  -«»v~v»  ^         riiiu-yuiio.  ieau  itaeii  can  ny 

And  ponderous  slugs  cut  swiftly  through  the  sky 

As  clocks  to  weight  their  nimble  motion  owe         ' 

The  wheels  above  urged  by  the  load  below:  ' 

Me  emptiness,  and  duluess  could  inspire 

And  were  my  elasticity,  and  fire. 

Some  demon  stole  my  pen  (forgive  the  offence) 

And  once  betray'd  me  into  common  sense  : 

Else  all  my  prose  and  verse  were  much  the  same- 

This,  prose  on  stilts  ;  that,  poetry  fallen  lame. 

JUid  on  the  stage  my  fops  appear  confined  ? 

My  life  gave  ampler  lessons  to  mankind. 

Did  the  dead  letter  unsuccessful  prove  ?* 

The  brisk  example  never  fail'd  to  move. 

Yet  sure  had  heaven  decreed  to  save  the  state 

Heaven  had  decreed  these  works  a  longer  date. 

Could  Troy  be  saved  by  any  single  hand, 

This  grey-goose  weapon  must  have  made  her  stand. 

\*  hat  can  I  now?  my  Fletcher  cast  aside, 

Take  up  the  Bible,  once  my  better  guide  ? 

Or  tread  the  path  by  venturous  heroes  trod 

This  box  my  thunder,  this  right  hand  my  god? 

Or  chair'd  at  White's  amidst  the  doctors  sit 

Teach  oaths  to  gamesters,  and  to  nobles  wit'? 


416  THE   DUNCIAD. 

Or  bidst  thou  rather  party  to  embrace  ? 

(A  friend  to  party  thou,  and  all  her  race ; 

Tis  the  same  rope  at  different  ends  they  twist; 

To  Dulness  Ridpath  is  as  dear  as  Mist.1) 

Shall  I,  like  Curtius,  desperate  in  my  zeal, 

O'er  head  and  ears  plunge  for  the  commonweal  ? 

Or  rob  Rome's  ancient  geese  of  all  their  glories, 

And  cackling  save  the  monarchy  of  tories  1 

Hold — to  the  minister  I  more  incline  ; 

To  serve  his  cause,  0  queen !  is  serving  thine. 

And  see !  thy  very  gazetteers2  give  o'er, 

Even  Ralph  repents,  and  Henly  writes  no  more. 

What  then  remains  1     Ourself.     Still,  still  remain 

Cibberian  forehead,  and  Cibberian  brain. 

This  brazen  brightness,  to  the  squire  so  dear; 

This  polish'd  hardness,  that  reflects  the  peer ; 

This  arch  absurd,  that  wit  and  fool  delights; 

This  mess,  toss'd  up  of  Hockley-hole  and  White's ; 

Where  dukes  and  butchers  join  to  wreathe  my  crown, 

At  once  the  bear  and  fiddle  of  the  town. 

O  bom  in  sin,  and  forth  in  folly  brought ! 
"Works  damn'd,  or  to  be  damn'd !  (your  father's  fault) 
Go,  purified  by  flames,  ascend  the  sky, 
My  better  and  more  Christian  progeny ! 
Uustain'd,  untouch'd,  and  yet  in  maiden  sheets ; 
While  all  your  smutty  sisters  walk  the  streets. 
Ye  shall  not  beg,  like  gratis-given  Bland, 
Sent  with  a  pass,  and  vagrant  through  the  land ; 
Not  sail,  with  Ward,3  to  ape-and-monkey  climes, 
Where  vile  Mundungus  trucks  for  viler  rhymes; 

1  George  Ridpath,  author  of  a  Whig  paper,  called  the  Flying  Post ; 
Nathaniel  Mist,  of  a  famous  Tory  journal. 

2  A  baud  of  ministerial  writers,  who,  on  the  very  day  their  patron 
quitted  his  post,  laid  down  their  paper,  and  declared  they  would  nerer 
more  meddle  in  politics. 

3  "  Edward  Ward,  a  very  voluminous  poet  in  Hudibrastic  verse,  but 
best  known  by  the  London  Spy,  in  prose.    He  has  of  late  years  kept 
a  public-house  in  the  City,  (but  in  a  genteel  way,)  and  with  his  wit, 
humour,  and  good  liquor  (ale)  afforded  his  guests  a  pleasurable  enter- 
tainment, especially  those  of  the  high-church  party." — JACOB,  Lives  of 
Poets,  vol.  ii.  p  225.     Great  numbers  of  his  works  were  yearly  sold  into 
the  Plantations.   Ward,  in  a  book  called  Apollo's  Maggot,  declared  this 
account  to  be  a  great  falsity,  protesting  that  his  public-house  was  not  in 
the  City,  but  in  Moorfieldt. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  417 

Not  sulphnr-tipp'd,  emblaze  an  ale-house  fire  I 

Not  wrap  up  oranges,  to  pelt  your  sire ! 

O  !  pass  more  innocent,  in  infant  state, 

To  the  mild  limbo  of  our  father  Tate  :* 

Or  peaceably  forgot,  at  once  be  blest 

In  Shadwell's  bosom  with  eternal  rest  1 

Soon  to  that  mass  of  nonsense  to  return. 

Where  things  destroy'd  are  swept  to  things  unborn. 

With  that,  a  tear  (portentous  sign  of  grace !) 
Stole  from  the  master  of  the  sevenfold  face : 
And  thrice  he  lifted  high  the  birth-day  brand, 
And  thrice  he  dropp'd  it  from  his  quivering  hand; 
Then  lights  the  structure,  with  averted  eyes: 
The  rolling  smokes  involve  the  sacrifice, 
The  opening  clouds  disclose  each  work  by  turns, 
Now  flames  the  Cid,  and  now  Perolla  burns ; 
Great  Caesar  roars,  and  hisses  in  the  fires ; 
King  John  in  silence  modestly  expires: 
No  merit  now  the  dear  Nonjuror  claims, 
Moliere's  old  stubble  in  a  moment  flames. 
Tears  gush'd  again,  as  from  pale  Priam's  eyes 
When  the  last  blaze  sent  Ilion  to  the  skies. 

Boused  by  the  light,  old  Dulness  heaved  the  head; 
Then  snatch'd  a  sheet  of  Thule-  from  her  bed, 
Sudden  she  flies,  and  whelms  it  o'er  the  pyre, 
Down  sink  the  flames,  and  with  a  hiss  expire. 

Her  ample  presence  fills  up  all  the  place : 
A  veil  of  fogs  dilates  her  awful  face  : 
Great  in  her  charms!  as  when  on  shrieves  and  mayors 
-She  looks,  and  breathes  herself  into  their  airs. 
She  bids  him  wait  her  to  her  sacred  dome: 
Well  pleased  he  entered,  and  confess'd  his  home. 
So  spirits,  ending  their  terrestial  race, 
Ascend,  and  recognise  their  native  place. 
This  the  great  mother  dearer  held  than  all 
The  clubs  of  quidnuncs,  or  her  own  Guild-ball: 
Here  stood  her  opium,  here  she  nursed  her  owls, 
And  here  she  planu'd  the  imperial  seat  of  fools. 

Here  to  her  chosen  all  her  works  she  shows ; 
Prose  swell'd  to  verse,  verse  loitering  into  prose: 

1  Tatc  and  Shadwcll,  two  of  his  predecessors  in  the  Laurel. 
"  An  unfinished  poem  of  that  name,  of  which  one  sheet  was  printed 
laiiy  years  ago,  by  Amb.  Phillips. 

37 


418  THE   DUNCIAD. 

How  random  thoughts  now  meaning  chance  to  find, 

Now  leave  all  memory  of  sense  behind : 

How  prologues  into  prefaces  decay, 

And  these  to  notes  are  fritter 'd  quite  away: 

How  index-learning  turns  no  student  pule, 

Yet  holds  the  eel  of  science  by  the  tail; 

How,  with  less  reading  than,  makes  felons  'scape, 

Less  human  genius  than*  God  gives  an  ape, 

Small  thanks  to  France,  and  none  to  Rome  or  Greece, 

A  past,  vamp'd  future,  old,  revived,  new  piece, 

Twixt  Plautus,  Fletcher,  Shakspere,  and  Corneille, 

Can  make  a  Gibber,  Tibbald,  or  Ozell.1 

The  goddess  then,  o'er  his  anointed  head, 
With  mystic  words,  the  sacred  opium  shed. 
And  lo  !  her  bird,  (a  monster  of  a  fowl, 
Something  betwixt  a  Heideggre2  and  owl) 
Perch'd  on  his  crown.     "  All  hail !  and  hail  again, 
My  son  !  the  promised  land  expects  thy  reign. 
Know,  Eusden  thirsts  no  more  for  sack  or  praise ; 
He  sleeps  among  the  dull  o'f  ancient  days  ; 
Safe,  where  no  critics  damn,  no  duns  molest, 
Where  wretched  Withers,  Ward,  and  Gildon  rest,3 
And  high-born  Howard,4  more  majestic  sire, 
With  fool  of  quality  completes  the  choir. 

1  Lewis  Tibbald  (as  pronounced)  or  Theobald  (as  written)  was  bred 
an  attorney,  and  son  to  an  attorney  (says  Mr.  Jacob)  of  Sittingbourn,  in 
Kent.     He  was  author  of  some  forgotten  plays,  translations,  and  other 
pieces.    He  was  concerned  in  a  paper  called  the  Censor,  and  a  trans- 
lation of  Ovid. 

"  Mr.  John  Ozell  (if  we  may  credit  Mr.  Jacob)  did  go  to  school  in 
Leicestershire,  where  somebody  left  him  something  to  live  on,  when  lie 
shall  retire  from  business.  He  was  designed  to  be  suit  to  Cambridge,  in 
order  for  priesthood ;  but  he  chose  rather  to  be  placed  in  an  office  of  ac- 
counts, in  the  City,  being  qualified  for  the  same  by  his  skill  in  urithmi  tic, 
and  writing  the  necessary  hands.  He  has  obliged  the  world  with  many 
translations  of  French  plays." 

2  A  strange  bird  from  Switzerland,  and  not  (as  some  have  supposed) 
the  name  of  an  eminent  person  who  was  a  man  of  parts,  and,  as  was 
said  of  Petronius,  Arbiter  Elegantiarum. 

3  "  George  Withers  was  a  great  pretender  to  poetical  zeal,  and  abused 
the  greatest  personages  in  power,  which  brought  upon  him  frequent 
correction." 

Charles  Gildon,  a  writer  of  criticisms  and  libels  of  the  last  age,  bred 
at  St.  Omer's  with  the  Jesuits ;  but  renouncing  popery,  he  published 
Blount's  books  against  the  divinity  of  Christ,  the  Oracles  of  Reason,  &c. 

4  Hon.  Edward  Howard,  author  of  the  British  Princes,  and  a  great 
number  of  wonderful  pieces,  celebrated  by  the  late  Earls  of  Dorset  ancl 
Eochester,  Duke  of  Buckingham,  Mr.  Waller,  &c. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  419 

Thou  Gibber !  thou,  his  laurel  shalt  support, 
Folly,  my  son,  has  still  a  friend  at  court 
Lift  up  your  gates,  ye  princes,  see  him  come  ! 
Sound  sound  ye  viols,  be  the  cat-call  dumb  ! 


-Bring,  bring  the  madding  bay,  the  drunken  vine- 
ihe  creeping,  dirty,  courtly  ivy  join. 
And  thou  !  his  aide-de-camp,  lead  on  my  sons 
Light-arm'd  with  points,  antitheses  and  puns 
Let  Bawdry,  Billingsgate,  my  daughters  ^ear, 
bupport  his  front,  and  oaths  bring  up  the  rear : 
And  under  his,  and  under  Archer's  wing 
Gaming  and  Grub-street  skulk  behind  the  kino-. 

Oh  !  when  shall  rise  a  monarch  all  our  own, 
And  I,  a  nursing-mother,  rock  the  throne 
Twixt  prince  and  people  close  the  curtain  draw, 
bhade  hr.n  from  light,  and  cover  him  from  law: 
Fatten  the  courtier,  starve  the  learned  band, 
And  suckle  armies,  and  dry-nurse  the  land- 
Till  senates  nod  to  lullabies  divine, 
And  all  be  sleep,  as  at  an  ode  of  thine." 

She  ceased.     Then  swells  the  chapel-royal  throat : 
God  save  king  Gibber.'"  mounts  in  every  note 
Familiar  White's,  «  God  save  king  Colley  !"  cries: 

God  save  king  Colley!"  Drury-lane  replies: 
lo  JNeedham  s  quick  the  voice  triumphal  rode, 
But  pious  Needham1  dropt  the  name  of  God  ; 
Back  to  the  Devil2  the  last  echoes  roll, 
And  Coll  !  each  butcher  roars  at  Hockley-hole. 
So  when  Jove's  block  descended  from  on  hi^h 
(As  sings  thy  great  torefather  Ogilby)3 
Loud  thunder  to  its  bottom,  shook  the  bog, 
And  the  hoarse  nation  croak'd,  God  save  "king  Log ! 

»  A  matron  of  great  fame,  and  very  religious  in  her  way;  whose  con- 
stant prayer  ,t  was,  that  she  might  "get  enough  by  her  profession  to 
leave  it  off  in  time,  and  make  her  peace  with  God."  But  her  fate  was 
not  so  happy;  for  being  convicted,  and  set  in  the  pillory,  she  was  (to  the 
lastmg  shame  of  all  her  great  friends  and  votaries)  so  ill-used  by  the 
populace,  that  it  put  an  end  to  her  days. 

-  The  Devil  Tavern  in  Fleet-street,  where  these  odes  are  usually  re- 
hearsed before  they  are  performed  at  Court. 

•  See  Ogilby's  .Esop's  Fables,  where,  in  the  story  of  the  Frojrs  and 
their  King,  this  excellent  hemstitch  is  to  be  found. 


420  TUB  DUNCIAIX 


BOOK  THE  SECOND. 


ARGUMENT. 

The  king  being  proclaimed,  the  solemnity  is  graced  with  public  games 
and  sports  of  various  kinds ;  not  instituted  by  the  hero,  as  by  /Eneas  in 
Virgil,  but  for  greater  honour  by  the  Goddess  in  person  (in  like  manner 
as  the  games  Pythia,  Isthmia,  &c.,  were  anciently  said  to  be  ordained 
by  the  gods,  and  its-Thetis  herself  appearing,  according  to  Homer,  Odyss. 
24,  proposed  the  prizes  in  honour  of  her  son  Achilles.)  Hither  flock  the 
poets  and  critics,  attended,  as  is  but  just,  with  their  patrons  and  book- 
sellers. '1  he  Goddess  is  first  pleased,  for  her  disport,  to  propose  games 
to  the  booksellers,  and  setteth  up  the  phantom  of  a  poet,  which  they  con- 
tend to  overtake.  The  race  is  described  with  their  divers  accidents. 
Next,  the  game  for  a  poetess.  Then  follow  the  exercises  for  the  poets, 
of  tickling,  vociferating,  dining :  the  first  holds  forth  the  arts  and  prac- 
tices of  dedicators ;  the  second  of  disputants  and  fustian  poets  ;  the  third 
of  profound,  dark,  and  dirty  party-writers.  Lastly,  for  the  critics,  the 
Goddess  proposes  (with  great  propriety)  an  exercise,  not  of  their  parts, 
but  their  patience,  in  hearing  the  works  of  two  voluminous  authors,  one 
in  verie  and  the  other  in  prose,  deliberately  read,  without  sleeping;  the 
various  effects  of  which  with  the  several  degrees  and  manners  of  their 
operation,  are  here  set  forth,  till  the  whole  number,  not  of  critics  only, 
but  of  spectators,  actors,  and  all  present,  fall  fast  asleep,  which  naturally 
and  necessarily  ends  the  games. 


HIGH  on  a  gorgeous  seat,  that  far  out-shone 
Henley's  gilt  tub,1  or  Fleckno's  Irish  throne, 
Or  that  where  on  her  Curls2  the  public  pours, 
All-bounteous,  fragrant  grains  and  golden  showers, 
Great  Gibber  sate ;  the  proud  Parnassian  sneer, 
The  conscious  simper  and  the  jealous  leer 
Mix  on  his  look :  all  eyes  direct  their  rays 
On  him,  and  crowds  turn  coxcombs  as  they  gaze. 

1  The  pulpit  of  a  dissenter  is  usually  called  a  tub;  but  that  of  Mr. 
Orator  Henley  was  covered  with  velvet,  and  adorned  with  gold.    He  had 
also  a  fair  altar,  and  over  it  this  extraordinary  inscription,  "  The  Primi- 
tive Eucharist." 

Richard  Fleckno  was  an  Irish  priest,  but  had  laid  aside  (as  himself 
expressed  it)  the  mechanic  part  of  priesthood.  He  printed  some  plays, 
poems,  letters,  and  travels. 

2  Edmund  Curl  stood  in  the  pillory  at  Charing-cross,  in  March 


THE  DUNCIAD.  421 

His  peers  shine  round  him  with  reflected  grace, 
New  edge  their  dulness,  and  new  bronze  their  face. 
So  from  the  sun's  broad  beam,  in  shallow  urns 
Heaven's  twinkling  sparks  draw  light  and  point  their 
horns. 

Not  with  more  glee,  by  hands  pontific  crown'd, 
With  scarlet  hats  wide-waving  circled  round, 
Rome  in  her  capitol  saw  Querno  sit,1 
Throned  on  seven  hills,  the  antichrist  of  wit. 

And  now  the  Queen,  to  glad  her  sons,  proclaims 
By  herald  hawkers,  high  heroic  games, 
They  summon  all  her  race :  an  endless  band 
Pours  forth,  and  leaves  unpeopled  half  the  land. 
A  motley  mixture !  in  long  wigs,  in  bags, 
In  silks,  in  crapes,  in  garters,  an  1  in  rags; 
From  drawing-rooms,  from  colleges,  from  garrets, 
On  horse,  on  foot,  in  hacks,  and  gilded  chariots : 
All  who  true  Dunces  in  her  cause  appear'd, 
And  all  who  knew  those  Dunces  to  reward. 

Amid  that  area  wide  they  took  their  stand, 
Where  the  tall  May-pole  once  o'er-looked  the  Strand  ; 
But  now  (so  Anne  and  Piety  ordain) 
A  church  collects  the  saints  of  Drury-lane. 

With  authors,  stationers  obeyed  the  call, 
(The  field  of  glory  is  a  field  for  all). 
Glory  and  gain,  the  industrious  tribe  provoke; 
And  gentle  Dulness  ever  loves  a  joke. 
A  poet's  form  she  placed  before  their  eyes, 
And  bade  the  nimblest  racer  seize  the  prize ; 
No  meagre,  m  use-rid  mope,  adust  and  thin, 
In  a  dun  night-gown  of  his  own  loose  skin ; 
But  such  a  bulk  as  no  twelve  bards  could  raise, 
Twelve  starveling  bards  of  these  degenerate  days, 
All  as  a  partridge  plump,  full-fed,  and  fair, 
She  form'd  this  image  of  well-bodied  air; 
With  pert  flat  eyes  she  window'd  well  its  head ; 
A  brain  of  feathers,  and  a  heart  of  lead ; 
And  empty  words  she  gave,  and  sounding  strain, 
But  senseless,  lifeless  !  idol  void  and  vain ! 
Never  was  dash'd  out,  at  one  lucky  hit, 
A  fool,  so  just  a  copy  of  a  wit : 

1  Camillo  Querno  was  of  Apulia,  who  hearing  the  great  encourage- 
ment which  Leo  X.  gave  to  poets,  travelled  to  Rome  with  a  harp  in  his 
hand,  and  sung  to  it  twenty  thousand  verses  of  a  poem  called  Alexias. 

37* 


422  THE  DUNCIAD. 

So  like,  that  critics  said,  and  courtiers  swore, 
A  wit  it  was,  and  call'd  the  phantom  Moore.* 

All  gaze  with  ardour :  some  a  poet's  name, 
Others  a  sword-knot  and  laced  suit  inflame. 
But  lofty  Lintot':  in  the  circle  rose : 
"This  prize  is  mine,  who  tempt  it- are  my  foes; 
With  me  began  this  genius,  and  shall  end." 
He  spoke  :  and  who  with  Lintot  shall  contend? 

Fear  held  them  mute.     Alone,  untaught  to  fear, 
Stood  dauntless  Curl  ;3  "  Behold  that  rival  here  ! 
The  race  by  vigour,  not  by  vaunts,  is  won ; 
So  take  the  hindmost,  Hell," — he  said  and  run. 
Swift  as  a  bard  the  bailiff  leaves  behind, 
He  left  huge  Lintot,  and  outstripp'd  the  wind. 
As  when  a  dab-chick  waddles  through  the  copse 
On  feet  and  Avings,  and  flies,  and  wades,  and  hops ; 
So  laboui-ing  on,  with  shoulders,  hands,  and  head, 
Wide  as  a  windmill  all  his  figure  spread, 
With  arms  expanded  Bernard  rows  his  state, 
And  left-legg'd  Jacob  seems  to  emulate. 
Full  in  the  middle  way  there  stood  a  lake, 
Which  Curl's  Corinna4  chanced  that  morn  to  make ; 

1  Curl,  in  his  Key  to  the  Dunciad,  affirmed  this  to  lie  James  Moore 
Smith,  Esq.     His  only  work  was  a  comedy  called  the  Rival  Modes ;  the 
town  condemned  it  in  the  action. 

2  We  enter  here  upon  the  episode  of  the  booksellers;  persons  whose 
names  being  more  known  and  famous  in  the  learned  world  than  those 
of  the  authors  in  this  poem,  do  therefore  need  less  explanation.     The 
action  of  Mr  Lintot  here  imitates  that  of  Dares  in  Virgil,  rising  just  in 
this  manner  to  lay  hold  on  a  bull.     This  eminent  bookseller  printed  the 
Rival  Modes  before-mentioned. 

3  We  come  now  to  a  character  of  much  respect,  that  of  Mr.  Edmund 
Curl.     As  a  plain  repetition  of  great  actions  is  the  best  praise  of  them, 
we  shall  only  say  of  this  eminent  man,  that  he  carried  the  trade  many 
lengths  beyond  what  it  ever  before  had  arrived  at,  and  that  he  was  the 
envy  and  admiration  of  all  his  profession.     He  possessed  himself  of  a 
command  over  ail  authors  whatever;  he  caused  them  to  write  what  he 
pleased;  they  could  not  call  their  very  names  their  own.     He  was  not 
only  famous  among  these ;  he  was  taken  notice  of  by  the  state,  the 
church,  and  the  law,  and  received  particular  marks  of  distinction  from 
each. 

4  This  name,  it  seems,  was  taken  by  one  Mrs.  T ,  who  procured 

some  private  letters  of  Mr.  Pope's,  while  almost  a  boy,  to  Mr.  Cromwell, 
and  sold  them  without  the  consent  of  either  of  those  gentlemen  to 
Curl,  who  printed  them  in  12mo,  1727.     He  discovered  her  to  be  the 
publisher,  in  his  Key. 


THE   DUNCIAD.  423 

(Such  was  her  wont,  at  early  dawn  to  drop 
Her  evening  cates  before  his  neighbour's  shop) 
Here  fortuned  Curl  to  slide :  loud  shout  the  band, 
And  Bernard !  Bernard  !  rings  thro'  all  the  Strand. 
Obscene  with  filth  the  miscreant  lies  bewray'd,  * 
Fallen  in  the  plash  his  wickedness  had  laid : 
Then  first  (if  poets  aught  of  truth  declare) 
The  caitiff  vaticide  conceived  a  prayer. 

Hear  Jove !  whose  name  my  bards  and  I  adore, 
As  much  at  least  as  any  god's,  or  more: 
And  him  and  his,  if  more  devotion  warms, 
Down  with  the  Bible,  up  with  the  pope's  arms.1 

A  place  there  is,  betwixt  earth,  air,  and  seas, 
Where,  from  ambrosia,  Jove  retires  for  ease. 
There  in  his  seat  two  spacious  vents  appear, 
On  this  he  sits,  to  that  he  leans  his  ear, 
And  hears  the  various  vows  of  fond  mankind ; 
Some  beg  an  eastern,  some  a  western  wind: 
All  vain  petitions,  mounting  to  the  sky, 
ims  abundant  this  abode  supply ; 


With  reams  abundant  this  abode  supply ; 
Amused  he  reads,  and  then  returns  the  bills 
Sign'd  with  that  ichor  which  from  gods  distils. 

in  office  here  fair  Cloacina2  stands, 
And  ministers  to  Jove  with  purest  hands. 
Forth  from  the  heap  she  pick'd  her  votary's  prayer 
And  placed  it  next  him,  a  distinction  rare  ! 
Oft  had  the  goddess  heard  her  servant's  call, 
From  her  black  grottos  near  the  Temple-wall, 
Listening  delighted  to  the  jest  unclean 
Of  link-boys  vile,  and  watermen  obscene ; 
Where  as  he  fished  her  nether  realms  for  wit> 
She  oft  had  favour'd  him,  and  favours  yet. 
Renew'd  by  ordure's  sympathetic  force, 
As  oil'd  with  magic  juices  for  the  course, 
Vigorous  he  rises:  from  the  effluvia  strong, 
Imbibes  new  life,  and  scours  and  stinks  along: 
Re-passes  Lintot,  vindicates  the  race, 
Nor  heeds  the  brown  dishonours  of  his  face. 

And  now  the  victor  stretch'd  his  eager  hand, 
Where  the  tall  nothing  stood,  or  seem'd  to  stand  ; 
A  shapeless  shade,  it  melted  from  his  sight, 
Like  forms  in  clouds,  or  visions  of  the  night. 

1  The  Bible  was  Curl's  sign  ;  the  Cross  Keys,  Lintofs. 

2  The  Roman  goddess  01  the  common  sewers.     Her  black  grottos 
near  the  Temple  still  pour  forth  their  odoriferous  streams. 


424  THE   DTJNCIAD. 

To  seize  his  papers,  Curl,  was  next  thy  care; 
His  papers  light,  fly  diverse,  tost  in  air ; 
Songs,  sonnets,  epigrams  the  winds  uplift, 
And  whisk  'em  back  to  Evans,  Young,  and  Swift. 
The.  embroider 'd  suit  at  least  he  deern'd  his  prey ; 
That  suit  an  unpaid  tailor  snatch 'd  away. 
No  rag,  no  scrap,  of  all  the  beau,  or  wit, 
That  once  so  flutter'd,  and  that  once  so  writ. 

Heaven  rings  with  laughter:  of  the  laughter  vain, 
Dulness,  good  queen,  repeats  the  jest  again. 
Three  wicked  imps,  of  her  own  Grub-street  choir, 
She  deck'd  like  Congreve,  Addison,  and  Prior;1 
Mears,  Warner,  Wilkins,2  run :  delusive  thought ! 
Breyal,  Bond,  Bezaleel,  the  varlets  caught. 
Curl  stretches  after  Gay,  but  Gay  is  gone, 
He  grasps  an  empty  Joseph3  for  a  John : 
So  Proteus,  hunted  in  a  nobler  shape, 
Became,  when  seized,  a  puppy,  or  an  ape. 

To  him  the  goddess :  Son !  thy  grief  lay  down, 
And  turn  this  whole  illusion  on  the  town  :4 
As  the  sage  dame,  experienced  in  her  trade, 
By  names  of  toasts  retails  each  batter'd  jade; 
(Whence  hapless  Monsieur  much  complains  at  Paris 
Of  wrongs  from  duchesses  and  lady  Marys ;) 
Be  thine,  my  stationer !  this  magic  gift ; 
Cook  shall  be  Prior,5  and  Concanen,  Swift: 
So  shall  each  hostile  name  become  our  own, 
And  we  too  boast  our  Garth  and  Addison. 

1  These  authors  being  such  whose  names  will  reach  posterity,  we 
shall  not  give  any  account  of  them,  but  proceed  to  those  of  whom  it  is 
necessary.    Bezaleel  Morris  was  author  of  some  satires  on  the  translators 
of  Homer,  with  many  other  things  printed  in  newspapers. — "  Bond 
wrote  a  satire  against  Pope.     Captain  Breval  was  author  of  The  Con- 
federates, an  ingenious  dramatic  performance  to  expose  Mr.  P.,  Mr. 
Gay,  Dr.  Arbutimot  and  some  ladies  of  quality,"  says  Curl. 

2  Booksellers,  and  printers  of  much  anonymous  stuff. 

3  Joteph  Gay,  a  fictitious  name  put  by  Curl  before  several  pamphlets, 
which  made  them  pass  with  many  for  Mr.  Gay's 

4  It  was  a  common  practice  of  this  bookseller  to  publish  vile  pieces 
of  obscure  hands  under  the  names  of  eminent  authors. 

5  The  man  here  specified  wrote  a  thing  called  The  Battle  of  Poets,  in 
which   Phillips  and   Welsted  were  the  heroes,  and  Swift   and    Pope 
utterly  routed.     He  also   published  some   malevolent   things   in   the 
British,  London,  and  Daily  Journals;  and  at  the  same  time  wrote 
letters  to  Mr.  Pope,  protesting  his  innocence.     His  chief  work  was  a 
translation  of  Hesiod,  to  which  Theobald  put  notes  aud  hall-notes. 
which  he  carefully  owned.       i 


TIIE   DUNCIAD.  425 

With  that  she  gave  him  (piteous  of  his  case, 
Yet  smiling  at  his  rueful  length  of  face) 
A  shaggy  tapestry,  worthy  to  be  spread 
On  Codrus'  old,  or  Duntou's1  modern  bed ; 
Instructive  work  !  whose  wry-mouth'd  portraiture 
Display'd  the  fates  her  confessors  endure. 
Earless  on  high,  stood  unabash'd  De  Foe, 
And  Tutchin  flagrant  from  the  scourge  below.2 
There  Ridpath,  Roper,3  cudgell'd  might  ye  view, 
The  very  worsted  still  look'd  black  and  blue. 
Himself  among  the  storied  chiefs  he  spies, 
As  from  the  blanket  high  in  air  he  flies, 
And  oh  !  (he  cried)  what  street,  what  lane  but  knows, 
Our  purgings,  pumpings,  blanketings,  and  blows  I4 
In  every  loom  our  labours  shall  be  seen, 
And  the  fresh  vomit  run  for  ever  green ! 

See  in  the  circle  next,  Eliza  placed,5 
Two  babes  of  love  close  clinging  to  her  waist ; 
Fair  as  before  her  works  she  stands  confess'd, 
In  flowers  and  pearls  by  bounteous  Kirkall  dress'd. 
The  Goddess  then :  "  Who  best  can  send  on  high 
The  salient  spout,  far  streaming  to  the  sky ; 
His  be  yon  Juno  of  majestic  size, 
With  cow-like  udders,  and  with  ox-like  eyes. 
This  china  Jordan  let  the  chief  o'ercome 
Replenish,  not  ingloriously,  at  home." 

1  John  Dunton  was  a  broken  bookseller  and  abusive  scribbler ;  he 
wrote  Neck  or  Nothing,  a  violent  satire  on  some  ministers  of  state ;  a 
libel  on  the  Duke  of  Devonshire  and  the  Bishop  of  Peterborough.     He 
also  left  his  autobiography  entitled   The  Life   and  Errors  of  John 
Dunton. 

2  John  Tutchin,  author  of  some  vile  verses,  and  of  a  weekly  paper 
called   the   Ob-ervator.     He  was   sentenced   to   be  whipped   through 
several  towns  in  the  west  of  England,  upon  which  he  petitioned  king 
James  II.  to  be  hanged.     When  that  prince  died  in  exile,  he  wrote  an 
invective  against  his  memory,  occasioned  by  some  humane  elegies  on 
his  death.     He  lived  to  the  time  of  Queen  Anne. 

3  Authors  of  the  Flying-post  and  Post-boy,  two  scandalous  papers  on 
different  sides,  for  which  they  equally  and  alternately  deserved  to  be 
cudgeled,  and  were  so. 

4  The  history  of  Curl's  being  tossed  in  a  blanket,  and  whipped  by  the 
scholars  of  Westminster,  is  well  known. 

4  Eliza  Haywood;  this  woman  was  authoress  of  two  scandalous 
books  called  the  Court  of  Carimania,  and  the  New  Utopia.  Some 
of  this  lady's  works  were  printed  in  four  volumes  in  12mo. ;  her  picture, 
engraved  by  Kirkall,  was  thuj  dressed  up  before  them. 


426  THE   DUNCIAD. 

Osborne1  and  Curl  accept  the  glorious  strife, 
(Though  this  his  son  dissuades,  and  that  his  wife.) 
One  on  his  manly  confidence  relies, 
One  on  his  vigour  and  superior  size. 
First  Osborne  lean'd  against  his  letter'd  post; 
It  rose,  and  labour'd  to  a  curve  at  most. 
So  Jove's  bright  bow  displays  its  watery  round, 
(Sure  sign,  that  no  spectator  shall  be  drown'd) 
A  second  effort  brought  but  new  disgrace, 
The  wild  meander  wash'd  the  artist's  face : 
Thus  the  small  jet,  which  hasty  hands  unlock, 
Spirts  in  the  gardener's  eyes  who  turns  the  cock. 
Not  so  from  shameless  Curl ;  impetuous  spread 
The  stream,  and  smoking  flourish'd  o'er  his  head. 
So  (famed  like  thee  for  turbulence  and  horns) 
Eridanus  his  humble  fountain  scorns: 
Through  half  the  heavens  he  pours  the  exalted  urn ; 
His  rapid  waters  in  their  passage  burn. 

Swift  as  it  mounts,  all  follow  with  their  eyes : 
Still  happy  Impudence  obtains  the  prize. 
Thou  triumph 'st,  victor  of  the  high-wrought  day, 
And  the  pleased  dame,  soft  smiling,  lead'st  away. 
Osborne,  through  perfect  modesty  o'ercome, 
Crown'd  with  the  Jordan,  walks  contented  home. 

But  now  for  authors  nobler  palms  remain ; 
Room  for  my  Lord  !  three  jockeys  in  his  train; 
Six  huntsmen  with  a  shout  precede  his  chair : 
He  grins,  and  looks  broad  nonsense  with  a  stare. 
His  Honour's  meaning  Dulness  thus  express'd — 
"  He  wins  this  patron,  who  can  tickle  best." 

He  chinks  his  purse,  and  takes  his  seat  of  state: 
With  ready  quills  the  dedicators  wait ; 
Now  at  his  head  the  dexterous  task  commence, 
And,  instant,  fancy  feels  the  imputed  sense : 
Now  gentle  touches  wanton  o'er  his  face, 
He  struts  Adonis,  and  affects  grimace : 
Eolli2  the  feather  to  his  ear  conveys, 
Then  his  nice  taste  directs  our  Operas : 

1  A  bookseller  in  Gray's  Inn,  very  well  qualified  by  his  impudence  to 
act  this  part;  and  therefore  placed  here  instead  of  a  less  deserving 
predecessor. 

-  Paolo  Antonio  Rolli,  an  Italian  poet,  and  writer  of  many  operas  in 
that  language,  which,  partly  by  the  help  of  his  genius,  prevailed  in 
England  near  twenty  years. 


THE  DUNC1AD.  427 

Bentley1  his  mouth  with  classic  flattery  opes, 
And  the  puff 'd  orator  bursts  out  in  tropes. 
But  Welsted2  most  the  poet's  healing  balm 
Strives  to  extract  from  his  soft,  giving  palm; 
Unlucky  Welsted!  thy  unfeeling  master, 
The  more  thou  ticklest,  gripes  his  fist  the  faster. 

While  thus  each  hand  promotes  the  pleasing  pain, 
And  quick  sensations  skip  from  vein  to  vein; 
A  youth  unknown  to  Phoebus,  in  despair, 
Puts  his  last  refuge  all  in  heaven  and  prayer. 
What  force  have  pious  vows  !     The  Queen  of  Lore 
His  sister  sends,  her  votaress,  from  above. 
As  taught  by  Venus,  Paris  learnt  the  art 
To  touch  Achilles'  only  tender  part; 
Secure,  through  her,  the  noble  prize  to  carry, 
He  marches  off,  his  grace's  secretary. 

Now  turn  to  different  sports  (the  goddess  cries) 
And  learn,  my  sons,  the  wondrous  power  of  noise. 
To  move,  to  raise,  to  ravish  every  heart, 
With  Shakspere's  nature,  or  with  Jonson's  art, 
Let  others  aim :  Tis  yours  to  shake  the  soul 
With  thunder  rumbling  from  the  mustard  bowl ; 
With  horns  and  trumpets  now  to  madness  swell, 
Now  sink  in  sorrows  with  a  tolling  bell! 
Such  happy  arts  attention  can  command, 
When  fancy  flags,  and  sense  is  at  a  stand. 
Improve  we  these.    Three  cat-calls  be  the  bribe 
Of  him,  whose  chattering  shames  the  monkey  tribe; 
And  his  this  drum,  whose  hoarse  heroic  base 
Drowns  the  loud  clarion  of  the  braying  ass. 

Now  thousand  tongues  are  heard  in  one  loud  din ; 
The  monkey-mimics  rush  discordant  in ; 
Twas  chattering,  grinning,  mouthing,  jabbering  all, 
And  noise  and  Norton,3  brangling  and  Breval, 
Dennis  and  dissonance,  and  captious  art, 
And  snip-snap  short,  and  interruption  smart, 

1  Not  spoken  of  the  famous  Dr.  Richard  Bentley,  but  of  one  Thomas 
Bentley,  a  small  critic,  who  aped  his  uncle  in  a  little  Horace. 

2  Leonard  Welsted,  author  of  The  Triumvirate,  or  a  letter  in  verge 
from  1'altemon  to  Celia  at  Bath,  which  was  meant  for  a  satire  on  Mr. 
Pope  and  some  of  his  friends,  about  the  year  1718. 

8  See  ver.  417 — J.  Duraut  Breval,  author  of  a  very  extraordinary 
book  of  travels,  and  some  poenu. 


428  THE   DUNCIAD. 

And  demonstration  thin,  and  theses  thick, 
And  major,  minor,  and  conclusion  quick. 
Hold  (cried  the  queen)  a  cat-call  each  shall  win ; 
Equal  your  merits  !  equal  is  your  din ! 
But  that  this  well-disputed  game  may  end, 
Sound  forth  my  brayers,  and  the  welkin  rend. 
As  when  the  long-ear'd  milky  mothers  wait 
At  some  sick  miser's  triple-bolted  gate, 
For  their  defrauded  absent  foals  they  make 
A  moan  so  loud,  that  all  the  guild  awake; 
Sore  sighs  sir  Gilbert,  starting  at  the  bray, 
From  dreams  of  millions,  and  three  groats  to  pay. 
So  swells  each  windpipe ;  ass  intones  to  asss 
Harmonic  twang !  of  leather,  horn,  and  brass ; 
Such  as  from  labouring  lungs  the  enthusiast  blows, 
"   High  sound,  attemper'd  to  the  vocal  nose ; 
Or  such  as  bellow  from  the  deep  divine; 
There  Webster !  peal'd  thy  voice,  and  Whitfield  I1  thine. 
But  far  o'er  all,  sonorous  Blackmore's  strain; 
Walls,  steeples,  skies,  bray  back  to  him  again. 
In  Tottenham  fields,  the  brethren,  with  amaze, 
Prick  all  their  ears  up,  and  forget  to  graze  ;2 
Long  Chancery-lane  retentive  rolls  the  sound,3 
And  courts  to  courts  return  it  round  and  round; 
Thames  wafts  it  thence  to  Eufus'  roaring  hall. 
And  Hungerford  re-echoes  bawl  for  bawl. 
All  hail  him  victor  in  both  gifts  of  song, 
Who  sings  so  loudly,  and  who  sings  so  long.4 
This  labour  past,  by  Bridewell  all  descend, 
(As  morning  prayer,  and  flagellation  end) 
To  where  Fleet-ditch  with  disemboguing  streams 
Bolls  the  large  tribute  of  dead  dogs  to  Thames, 
The  king  of  dykes !  than  whom  no  sluice  of  mud 
With  deeper  sable  blots  the  silver  flood. 

1  Webster  was  the  writer  of  a  newspaper  called  the  Weekly  Mis- 
cellany ;  Whitfield,  the  celebrated  Rev.  George. 

2  The  progress  of  the  sound  from  place  to  place,  and  the  scenery 
here  of  the  bordering  regions,   Tottenham-fields,   Chancery-lane,   the 
Thames,  Westminster-hall,  and  Hungeribrd-stairs,  are  imitated  from 
Virgil. 

3  The  place  where  the  offices  of  Chancery  are  kept.     The  long  de- 
tention of  clients  in  that  court,  and  the  difficulty  of  getting  out,  is 
humorously  allegorised  in  these  lines. 

4  A  just  character  of  Sir  Kichard  Blackmore,  knight. 


THE   DUNCIAD.  429 

"  Here  strip,  my  children !  here  at  once  leap  in, 

Here  prove  who  best  can  dash  through  thick  and  thin, 

And  who  the  most  in  love  of  dirt  excel, 

Or  dark  dexterity  of  groping  well.1 

Who  flings  most  filth,  and  wide  pollutes  around 

The  stream,  be  his  the  Weekly  Journals  bound,3 

A  pig  of  lead  to  him  who  dives  the  best ; 

A  peck  of  coals  a-piece  shall  glad  the  rest." 

In  naked  majesty  Oldmixon  stands,3 

And,  Milo-like.  surveys  his  arms  and  hands ; 

Then  sighing  thus,  "and  am  I  now  three-score? 

Ah  why,  ye  gods!  should  two  and  two  make  four?** 

He  said,  and  climb'd  a  stranded  lighter's  height, 

Shot  to  the  black  abyss,  and  plunged  down-right. 

The  senior's  judgment  all  the  crowd  admire, 

Who  but  to  sink  the  deeper,  rose  the  higher. 

Next  Smedley  dived ;  slow  circles  dimpled  o'er4 
The  quaking  mud,  that  closed,  and  oped  no  more. 
All  look,  all  sigh,  and  call  on  Smedley  lost ; 
Smedley!  in  vain  resounds  through  all  the  coast. 

Then  *  essay'd  ;5  scarce  vanish 'd  out  of  sight, 
He  buoys  up  instant,  and  returns  to  light : 
He  bears  no  token  of  the  sabler  streams, 
And  mounts  far  off  among  the  swans  of  Thames. 

True  to  the  bottom,  see  Concanen  creep,6 
A  cold,  long-winded,  native  of  the  deep: 

1  The  three  chief  qualifications  of  party  writers ;  to  stick  at  nothing, 
to  delight  in  flinging  dirt,  and  to  slander  in  the  dark  by  guess. 

2  Papers-  of  news  and  scandal  intermixed,  on  different  sides   and 
parties,  and  frequently  shifting  from  one  ^de  to  the  other,  called  the 
London  Journal,  British  Journal,  Daily  Journal,  &c.,  the  concealed 
writers  of  which  for  some  time  were  Oldmixon,  Koome,  Arnall,  Con- 
canen, and  others ;  persons  never  seen  by  our  author. 

3  Mr.  John  Oldmixon,  next  to  Mr.  Dennis,  the  most  ancient  critic  of 
our  nation ;  an  unjust  censurer  of  Sir.  Addison  in  his  prose  Essay  on 
Criticism,  whom  also  in  his  imitation  of  Bouhours,  he  misrepresents  in 
plain  matter  of  fact. 

•*  The  person  here  mentioned,  an  Irishman,  was  author  and  pub- 
lisher of  many  scurrilous  pieces,  a  weekly  Whitehall  Journal,  in  the 
year  1722,  in  thi-  name  of  Sir  James  Baker 

5  A  gentleman  of  genius  and  spirit,  who  was  secretly  dipped  in  some 
papers  of  this  kind,  on  whom  our  poet  bestows  a  panegyric  instead  of 
a  satire,  as  deserving  to  be  better  employed  than  in  party-quarrels  and 
personal  invectives;  by  some  supposed  to  be  Aaron  Hill. 

6  Matthew  Concanen,  an  Irishman,  bred  to  the  law.     He  was  author 
of  several  dull  and  dead  scurrilities  in  the  British  and  London  Journals, 
and  in  a  paper  calk*  the  SpecuJatist. 

38 


430  THE   DUNCIAD. 

If  perseverance  gain  the  diver's  prize, 

Not  everlasting  Blackmore  this  denies: 

No  noise,  no  stir,  no  motion  canst  thou  make ; 

The  unconscious  stream  sleeps  o'er  thee  like  a  late. 

Next  plunged  a  feeble,  but  a  desperate  pack, 
With  each  a  sickly  brother  at  his  back : 
Sons  of  a  day!  just  buoyant  on  the  flood,1 
Then  number'd  with  the  puppies  in  the  mud. 
Ask  ye  their  names?  I  could  as  soon  disclose 
The  names  of  these  blind  puppies  as  of  those. 
Fast  by,  like  Niobe  (her  children  gone) 
Sits  Mother  Osborne,  stupified  to  stone  !2 
And  monumental  brass  this  record  bears, 
"These  are, — ah  no!  these  were,  the  Gazetteers!" 

Not  so  bold  Arnall ;  with  a  weight  of  skull, 
Furious  he  dives,  precipitately  dull. 
Whirlpools  and  storms  his  circling  arm  invest,8 
With  all  the  might  of  gravitation  blest. 
No  crab  more  active  in  the  dirty  dance, 
Downward  to  climb,  and  backward  to  advance. 
He  brings  up  half  the  bottom  on  his  head, 
And  loudly  claims  the  journals  and  the  lead. 

The  plunging  prelate,  and  his  ponderous  grace, 
With  holy  envy  gave  one  layman  place. 
When  lo !  a  burst  of  thunder  shook  the  flood, 
Slow  rose  a  form,  in  majesty  of  mud ; 
Shaking  the  horrors  of  his  sable  brows, 
And  each  ferocious  feature  grim  with  ooze. 
Greater  he  looks,  and  more  than  mortal  stares: 
Then  thus  the  wonders  of  the  deep  declares. 

First  he  relates,  how  sinking  to  the  chin, 
Smit  with  his  mien,  the  mud-nymphs  suck'd  him  in: 
How  young  Lutetia,  softer  than  the  down, 
Nigrina  black,  and  Merdamante  brown, 
Vied  for  his  love  in  jetty  bowers  below, 
As  Hylas  fair4  was  ravish'd  long  ago. 

1  These  were  daily  papers,  a  number  of  which,  to  lessen  the  expense, 
were  printed  one  on  the  back  of  another. 

-  A  name  assumed  by  the  eldest  and  gravest  of  these  writers,  who  at 
last  being  ashamed  of  his  pupils,  gave  his  paper  over,  and  in  his  age 
remained  si'ent. 

a  William  Arnall,  bred  an  attorney,  was  a  perfect  penius  in  this  sort 
of  work.  He  began  under  twenty,  with  furious  party-papers;  then 
succeeded  Concanen  in  the  British  Journal. 

4  Who  was  ravished  by  the  water-nymphs  and  drawn  into  the  river. 
The  story  is  told  at  large  by  Valerius  Flaccus. 


THE   DUNCIAD.  431 

Then  sung,  how  shown  him  by  the  nut-brown  maids 
A  branch  of  Styx  here  rises  from  the  shades, 
That  tinctured  as  it  runs  with  Lethe's  streams, 
And  wafting  vapours  from  the  land  of  dreams, 
(As  under  seas  Alphaeus'  secret  sluice 
Bears  Pisa's  offerings  to  his  Arethuse) 
Pours  into  Thames:  and  hence  the  mingled  wave 
Intoxicates  the  pert,  and  lulls  the  grave : 
Here  brisker  vapours  o'er  the  Temple  creep, 
There,  all  from  Paul's  to  Aldgate  drink  and  sleep. 

Thence  to  the  banks  where  reverend  bards  repose, 
They  led  him  soft ;  each  reverend  bard  arose ; 
And  Milbourn1  chief,  deputed  by  the  rest, 
Gave  him  the  cassock,  surcingle,  and  vest. 
"  Receive  (he  said)  these  robes  which  once  were  mine, 
Bulness  is  sacred  in  a  sound  divine." 

He  ceased,  and  spread  the  robe ;  the  crowd  confess 
The  reverend  flamen  in  his  lengthen'd  dress. 
Around  him  wide  a  sable  army  stand, 
A  low-born,  cell-bred,  selfish,  servile  band, 
Prompt  or  to  guard  or  stab,  to  saint  or  damn, 
Heaven's  Swiss,  who  fight  for  any  god,  or  man.      [Fleet 

Through  Lud's  famed  gates,2  along  the  well-known 
Rolls  the  black  troop,  and  overshades  the  street, 
'Till  showers  of  sermons,  characters,  essays, 
In  circling  fleeces  whiten  all  the  ways: 
So  clouds,  repleuish'd  from  some  bog  below, 
Mount  in  dark  volumes,  and  descend  in  snow. 
Here  stopp'd  the  goddess ;  and  in  pomp  proclaims 
A  gentle  exercise  to  close  the  games. 

"  Ye  critics !  in  whose  heads,  a?  equal  scales, 
I  weigh  what  author's  heaviness  prevails ; 
Which  most  conduce  to  soothe  the  soul  in  slumbers, 
My  Henley's  periods,  or  my  Blackmore's  numbers; 
Attend  the  trial  we  propose  to  make: 
If  there  be  man,  who  o'er  such  works  can  wake, 

1  Luke  Milbourn,  a  clergyman,  the  fairest  of  critics ;  who,  when  he 
wrote  against  Mr.  Dryden's  Virgil,  did  him  justice  in  printing  at  the 
game  time  his  own  intolerable  translations. 

*  "King  Lud  repairing  the  City,  called  it  after  his  own  name,  Lud's 
Town  ;  the  strong  gate  which  he  built  in  the  west  part  he  likewise,  for 
his  own  honour,  named  Ludgate.  In  the  year  1260,  this  gate  was 
beautified  with  images  of  Lud  and  other  kings.  Those  images,  in  the 
reign  of  Edward  VI.,  had  their  heads  smitten  off,  and  were  otuerwii* 
defaced  by  unadvised  folks." — Store's  Survey  of  London. 


432  THE   DUNCIAD. 

Sleep's  all-subduing  charms  who  dares  defy, 
And  boasts  Ulysses'  ear  with  Argus'  eye ; 
To  him  we  grant  our  amplest  powers  to  sit 
Judge  of  all  present,  past,  and  future  wit ; 
To  cavil,  censure,  dictate,  right  or  wrong, 
Full  and  eternal  privilege  of  tongue." 

Three  college  sophs,  and  three  pert  templars  came, 
The  same  their  talents,  and  their  tastes  the  same; 
Each  prompt  to  query,  answer,  and  debate, 
And  smit  with  love  of  poesy  and  prate. 
The  ponderous  books  two  gentle  readers  bring ; 
The  heroes  sit,  the  vulgar  form  a  ring. 
The  clamorous  crowd  is  hush'd  with  mugs  of  mum, 
'Till  all  tuned  equal,  send  a  general  hum. 
Then  mount  the  clerks,  and  in  one  lazy  tone 
Through  the  long,  heavy,  painful  page  drawl  on  ; 
Soft  creeping,  words  on  words,  the  sense  compose, 
At  every  line  they  stretch,  they  yawn,  they  doze. 
As  to  soft  gales  top-heavy  pines  bow  low : 
Their  heads,  and  lift  them  as  they  cease  to  blow- 
Thus  oft  they  rear,  and  oft  the  head  decline, 
As  breath,  or  pause,  by  fits,  the  airs  divine. 
And  now  to  this  side,  now  to  that  they  nod, 
As  verse,  or  prose,  infuse  the  drowsy  god. 
Thrice  Budgel  aim'd  to  speak,  but  thrice  suppress'd1 
By  potent  Arthur,  knock'd  his  chin  and  breast 
Toland  and  Tindal,  prompt  at  priests  to  jeer,2 
Yet  silent  bow'd  to  "  Christ's  no  kingdom  here."3 
Who  sate  the  nearest,  by  the  words  o'ercome, 
Slept  first ;  the  distant  nodded  to  the  hum. 
Then  down  are  roll'd  the  books ;  stretch 'd  o'er  'em  lies 
Each  gentle  clerk,  and  muttering  seals  his  eyes. 
As  what  a  Dutchman  plumps  into  the  lakes, 
One  circle  first,  and  then  a  second  makes ; 
What  Dulness  dropp'd  among  her  sons  impress'd 
Like  motion  from  one  circle  to  the  rest ; 
So  from  the  midmost  the  nutation  spreads 
Bound  and  more  round,  o'er  all  the  "  sea  of  heads." 

Famous  for  his  speeches  on  many  occasions  about  the  South  Sea 
scheme. 

2  Two  persons,  not  so  happy  as  to  be  obscure,  who  wrote  against  the 
religion  of  their  country. 

3  This  is  said  by  Curl,  Key  to  Dune.,  to  allude  to  a  sermon  of  a 
reverend  bishop. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  433 

At  last  Centlivre1  felt  her  voice  to  fail, 
Motteux  himself  unfinish'd  left  his  tale, 
Boyer  the  state,  and  Law  the  stage  gave  o'er,3 
Morgan3  and  Mandeville4  could  prate  no  more ; 
Norton,5  from  Daniel  and  Ostrcea  sprung, 
Bless'd  with  his  father's  front,  and  mother's  tongue, 
Hung  silent  down  his  never-blushing  Laad ; 
And  all  was  hush'd,  as  Folly's  self  lay  dead. 

Thus  the  soft  gifts  of  Sleep  conclude  the  day, 
And  stretch'd  on  bulks,  as  usual,  poets  lay. 
Why  should  I  sing  what  bards  the  nightly  muse 
Did  slumbering  visit,  and  convey  to  stews ; 
Who  prouder  march'd,  with  magistrates  in  state, 
To  some  famed  round-house'  ever-open  gate  1 
How  Henley  lay  inspired  beside  a  sink, 
And  to  mere  mortals  seem'd  a  priest  in  drink : 
While  others,  timely,  to  the  neighbouring  Fleet8 
(Haunt  of  the  muses)  made  their  safe  retreat. 

1  Mrs.  Susanna  Centlivre,  authoress  of  many  plays. 

2  A.  Boyer,  a  voluminous  compiler  of  annals,  political  collections,  &c.— 
William  Law,  A.M ,  wrote  with  great  zeal  against  the  stage.     Mr.  Law 
was  the  author  of  several  works,  in  which  he  recommends  the  exercise 
of  a  piety  almost  approaching  to  the  character  of  an  ascetic.     The  best 
known  is  "  A  Serious  Call  to  a  Devout  and  Holy  Life,"  which  has  had 
great  influence  on  many  minds.    Dr.  Johnson  said  it  was  this  work  that 
first  led  to  his  thinking  of  religion  in  earnest. 

3  A  writer  against  religion,  distinguished  no  otherwise  from  the  rab- 
ble of  his  tribe  than  by  the  pompousness  of  his  title;  for  having  stolen 
bis  morality  from  Tindal,  and  his  philosophy  from  Spinoza,  he  calls  him- 
self, by  the  courtesy  of  England,  a  moral  philosopher. 

4  This  writer,  who  prided  himself  as  much  in  the  reputation  of  an 
immoral  philoiopher,  was  author  of  a  famous  book  called  the  Fable  of 
the  Bees,  which  may  seem  written  to  prove,  that  moral  virtue  is  the 
invention  of  knaves,  and  Christian  virtue  the  imposition  of  fools ;  and 
that  vice  is  necessary,  and  alone  sufficient  to  render  society  flourishing 
and  happy. 

6  Norton  de  Foe,  son  of  the  famous  Daniel ;  he  was  one  of  the  authors 
Of  the  Flying  Post,  in  which  well-bred  work  Mr.  P.  had  sometime  the 
honour  to  be  abused  with  his  betters ;  and  of  many  hired  scurrilities 
and  daily  papers,  to  which  he  never  set  his  name. 

6  A  prison  for  insolvent  debtors  on  the  bank  of  the  ditch.  The  ditch 
htt  been  filled  up  and  the  prison  pulled  down. 


38' 


434:  THE  DUNCIAD. 


BOOK  THE  THIED. 


ARGUMENT. 

After  the  other  persons  are  disposed  in  their  proper  places  cf  rest,  tlid 
goddess  transports  the  king  to  her  temple,  and  there  lays  him  to  slum 
ber  with  his  head  on  her  lap ;  a  position  of  marvellous  virtue,  which 
causes  all  the  visions  of  wild  enthusiasts,  projectors,  politicians,  inamo» 
ratos,  castle-builders,  chemists,  and  poets.  He  is  immediately  carried 
on  the  wings  of  fancy,  and  led  by  a  mad  poetical  sibyl  to  the  JEh/m'an 
thade;  where,  on  the  banks  of  Lethe,  the  souls  of  the  dull  are  dipped  by 
ScEi-iu*,  before  their  entrance  into  this  world.  There  he  is  met  by  the 
ghost  of  Settle,  and  by  him  made  acquainted  with  the  wonders  of  the 
place,  and  with  those  which  he  himself  is  destined  to  perform.  He 
takes  him  to  a  Mount  of  Vision,  from  whence  he  shows  him  the  past 
triumphs  of  the  Empire  of  Ditlness,  then  the  present,  and  lastly  the 
future :  how  small  a  part  of  the  world  was  ever  conquered  by  science, 
how  soon  those  conquests  were  stopped,  and  these  very  nations  again 
reduced  to  her  dominion.  Then  distinguishing  the  island  of  Great 
Britain,  shows  by  what  aids,  by  what  persons,  and  by  what  decrees  it 
shall  be  brought  to  her  empire.  Some  of  the  persons  he  causes  to  pass 
in  review  before  his  eyes,  describing  each  by  his  proper  figure,  character, 
and  qualifications.  On  a  sudden  the  scene  shifts,  and  a  vast  number  of 
miracles  and  prodigies  appear,  utterly  surprising  and  unknown  to  the 
king  himself,  till  they  are  explained  to  be  the  wonders  of  his  own  reign 
now  commencing.  On  this  subject  Settle  breaks  into  a  congratulation, 
yet  not  unmixed  with  concern,  that  his  own  times  were  but  the  types 
of  these.  He  prophesies  how  first  the  nation  shall  be  over-ran  with 
farces,  operas,  and  shows;  how  the  throne  of  Dulness  shall  be  advanced 
over  the  theatres,  and  set  up  even  at  cowl :  then  how  her  sons  shall  pre- 
side in  the  seats  of  arts  and  sciences  :  giving  a  glimpse,  or  Pisgah-sight, 
of  the  future  fulness  of  her  glory,  the  accomplishment  whereof  is  the 
subject  of  the  fourth  and  last  book. 


BUT  in  her  temple's  last  recess  inclosed, 
On  Dulness'  lap  the  anointed  head  reposed. 
Him  close  she  curtains  round  with  vapours  blue, 
And  soft  besprinkles  with  Cimmerian  dew. 
Then  raptures  high  the  seat  of  sense  o'erflow, 
Which  only  heads  refined  from  reason  know. 
Hence,  from  the  straw  where  Bedlam's  prophet  nods, 
He  hears  loud  oracles,  and  talks  with  gods: 
Hence  the  fool's  paradise,  the  statesman's  scheme, 
The  air-built  castle,  and  the  golden  dream, 
The  maid's  romantic  wish,  the  chemist's  flame, 
And  poet's  vision  of  eternal  fame. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  '435 

And  now,  on  fancy's  easy  wing  convey'd, 
The  king  descending,  views  the  Elysiau  shade. 
A  slip-shod  sibyl  led  his  steps  along, 
In  lofty  madness  meditating  song ; 
Her  tresses  staring  from  poetic  dreams, 
And  never  wash'd,  but  in  Castalia's  streams. 
Taylor.'  their  better  Charon,  lends  an  oar, 
(Once  swan  ot  Thames,  though  now  he  sings  no  more) 
Benlowes,2  propitious  still  to  blockheads  bows ; 
And  Shadwell  nods  the  poppy  on  his  brows.3 
Here,  in  a  dusky  vale  where  Lethe  rolls, 
Old  Baevius  sits  to  dip  poetic  souls,4 
And  blunt  the  sense,  and  fit  it  for  a  skull 
Of  solid  proof,  impenetrably  dull: 
Instant,  when  dipp'd,  away  they  wing  their  flight, 
Where  Brown  and  Hears5  unbar  the  gates  of  light, 
Demand  new  bodies,  and  in  calf's  array, 
Bush  to  the  world  impatient  for  the  day. 
Millions  and  millions  on  these  banks  he  views, 
Thick  as  the  stars  of  night,  or  morning  dews, 
As  thick  as  bees  o'er  vernal  blossoms  fly, 
As  thick  as  eggs  at  Ward  in  pillory.6 

1  John  Taylor,  the  water-poet,  an  honest  man  who  owns  he  learned 
not  so  mucli  as  the  accidence:  a  rare  example  of  modesty  in  a  poet! 
He  wrote  fourscore  books  in  the  reigu  of  James  I.  and  Charles  I.  and 
afterwards  (like  Edward  Ward)  kept  an  alehouse  in  Long  Acre.     He 
died  in  1654. 

2  A  country  gentleman,  famous  for  his  own  bad  poetry,  and  for 
patronising  bad  poets,  as  may  be  seen  from  many  dedications  of  Quarles 
and  others  to  him.     Some  of  these  anagramed  his  name,  Benlowes,  into 
Benerolut:  to  verify  which,  he  spent  his  whole  estate  upon  them. 

3  Shadwell  took  opium  for  many  years,  and  died  of  too  large  a  dose, 
in  the  year  1692. 

4  Beevius  was  an  ancient  poet,  celebrated  by  Virgil  for  the  like  cause 
as  Bays  by  our  author,  though  not  in  so  christian-like  a  manner. 

Ver.  24  alludes  to  the  story  of  Thetis  dipping  Achilles  to  render  him 
impenetrable. 

s  Booksellers,  printers  for  anybody. — The  allegory  of  the  souls  of  the 
dull  coming  forth  in  the  form  of  books,  dressed  in  calf's  skin,  and  being 
let  abroad  in  vast  numbers  by  booksellers,  is  sufficiently  intelligible. 

6  John  Ward,  of  Hackney,  Esq.,  Member  of  Parliament,  being  con- 
victed or  forgery,  was  first  expelled  the  House,  and  then  sentenced  to 
the  pillory,  on  the  17th  of  February,  1727.  Mr.  Curl  (having  likewise 
stood  there)  looks  upon  the  mention  of  such  a  gentleman  in  a  satire  as  a 
great  act  of  barbarity.  But  it  is  evident  this  verse  could  not  be  meant  of 
him :  it  being  notorious,  that  no  eggs  were  thrown  at  that  gentleman. 
Perhaps,  therefore,  it  might  be  intended  of  Mr.  Edward  Ward  the  poet, 
When  be  stood  there. 


436  THE   DU>'CIAD. 

Wondering  he  gazed:  when  lo  !  a  sage  appears, 
By  his  broad  shoulders  known,  and  length  of  eara^ 
Known  by  the  band  and  suit  which  Settle1  wore 
(His  only  suit)  lor  twice  three  years  before : 
All  as  the  vest,  appear'd  the  wearer's  frame, 
Old  in  new  state,  another,  yet  the  same. 
Bland  and  familiar  as  in  life,  begun 
Thus  the  great  father  to  the  greater  son. 

O  born  to  see  what  none  can  see  awake  ! 
Behold  the  wonders  of  the  oblivious  lake. 
Thou,  yet  unborn,  hast  touch'd  this  sacred  shore; 
The  hand  of  Baevius  drench'd  thee  o'er  and  o'er. 
But  blind  to  former  as  to  future  fate, 
What  mortal  knows  his  pre-existent  state  ? 
Who  knows  how  long  thy  transmigrating  soul 
Might  from  Boeotian  to  Boeotian  roll  ?2 
How  many  Dutchmen  she  vouchsafed  to  thrid  ? 
How  many  stages  through  old  monks  she  rid  ? 
And  all  who  since,  in  mild  benighted  days, 
Mix'd  the  owl's  ivy  with  the  poet's  bays. 
As  man's  mseanders  to  the  vital  spring 
Roll  all  their  tides,  then  back  their  circles  bring ; 
Or  whirligigs  twirl'd  round  by  skilful  swain, 
Suck  the  thread  in,  then  yield  it  out  again : 
All  nonsense  thus,  of  old  or  modern  date, 
Shall  in  thee  centre,  from  thee  circulate. 
For  this  our  queen  unfolds  to  vision  true 
Thy  mental  eye,  for  thou  hast  much  to  view: 
Old  scenes  of  glory,  times  long  cast  behind, 
Shall  first  recall'd,  rush  forward  to  thy  mind: 
Then  stretch  thy  sight  o'er  all  her  rising  reign, 
And  let  the  past  and  future  fire  thy  brain. 

Ascend  this  hill,  whose  cloudy  point  commands 
Her  boundless  empire  over  seas  and  lands. 
See,  round  the  Poles  where  keener  spangles  shine, 
Where  spices  smoke  beneath  the  burning  line, 

1  Klkanah  Settle  was  once  a  writer  in  vogue,  as  well  as  Gibber,  both 
for  dramatic  poetry  and  politics.     Mr.  Dennis  tells  us  that  "  he  was  a 
formidable  rival  to  Mr.  Dryden,  and  that  in  the  University  of  Cambridge 
there  were  those  who  gave  him  the  preferance."     He  was  author  or  pub- 
lisher of  many  noted  pamphlets  in  the  time  of  king  Charles  II.:  for 
which  see  the  library  at  the  Guildhall  of  the  City  of  London. 

2  Bffiotia  lay  under  the  ridicule  of  the  Wits  formerly,  as  Ireland  does 
now :  though  it  produced  one  ol  the  greatest  poets  and  one  of  the  greatest 
generals  of  Greece. 


THE  DUNCIAD. 

(Earth's  wide  extremes)  her  sable  flag  display'd, 
And  all  the  nations  cover'd  in  her  shade  ! 

Far  eastward  cast  thine  eye,  from  whence  the 
And  orient  science  their  bright  course  begun : 
One  god-like  monarch  all  that  pride  confounds,1 
He,  whose  long  wall  the  wandering  Tartar  bounds; 
Heavens !  what  a  pile  !  whole  ages  perish  there, 
And  one  bright  blaze  turns  learning  into  air. 

Thence  to  the  south  extend  thy  gladden'd  eyes; 
There  rival  flames  with  equal  glory  rise, 
From  shelves  to  shelves  see  greedy  Vulcan  roll, 
And  lick  up  all  their  physic  of  the  soul.2 

How  little,  mark  !  that  portion  of  the  ball, 
Where,  faint  at  best,  the  beams  of  science  fall: 
Soon  as  they  dawn,  from  hyperborean  skies 
Embodied  dark,  what  clouds  of  Vandals  rise ! 
Lo  !  where  Mseotis  sleeps,  and  hardly  flows 
The  freezing  Tanais  through  a  waste  of  snows, 
The  North  by  myriads  pours  her  mighty  sons, 
Great  nurse  of  Goths,  of  Alans,  and  of  Huns ! 
See  Alaric's  stern  port !  the  martial  frame 
Of  Genseric  !  and  Attila's  dread  name  ! 
See  the  bold  Ostrogoths  on  Latium  fall ; 
See  the  fierce  Visigoths  on  Spain  and  Gaul ! 
See  where  the  morning  gilds  the  palmy  shore, 
(The  soil  that  arts  and  infant  letters  bore)-* 
His  conquering  tribes  the  Arabian  prophet  draws, 
And  saving  ignorance  enthrones  by  laws. 
See  Christians,  Jews,  one  heavy  sabbath  keep, 
And  all  the  western  world  believe  and  sleep. 

Lo  !  Rome  herself,  proud  mistress  now  no  more 
Of  arts,  but  thundering  against  heathen  lore  ;4 

1  Chi  Ho-am-ti,  emperor  of  China,  the  same  who  built  the  great  wall 
between  China  and  Tartar/,  destroyed  all  the  books  and  learned  men  of 
that  empire. 

2  The  caliph,  Omar  I ,  having  conquered  Egypt,  caused  his  general  to 
burn  the  Ptolemsean  library,  on  the  gates  of  which  was  this  inscription : 
¥YXH2  I  ATPE1ON,  the  physic  of  the  soul. 

3  Phoenicia,  Syria,  &c.,  where  letters  are  said  to  have  been  invented. 
In  these  countries  Mahomet  began  his  conquests. 

4  A  strong  instance  of  this  pious  rage  is  placed  to  Pope  Gregory's 
account.     The  same  Pope  is  accused  by  Vossius,  and  others,  of  having 
caused  the  noble  monuments  of  the  old  Roman  magnificence  to  be  de- 
stroyed, lest  those  who  came  to  Rome  should  give  more  attention  to 
triumphal  arches,  &c.,  than  to  holy  things. 


438  THE  DUNCIAD. 

Her  grey-hair'd  synods  damning  books  unread, 
And  Bacon  trembling  for  his  brazen  head. 
Padua,  with  sighs,  beholds  her  Livy  burn, 
And  even  the  Antipodes  Virgilius  mourn. 
See,  the  cirque  falls,  the  unpillar'd  temple  nods, 
Streets  paved  with  heroes,  Tiber  chok'd  with  gods: 
Till  Peter's  keys  some  christen'd  Jove  adorn,1 
And  Pan  to  Moses  lends  his  pagan  horn ; 
See  graceless  Venus  to  a  virgin  turn'd, 
Or  Phidias  broken,  and  Apelles  burn'd. 

Beli old  yon  isle,  by  palmers,  pilgrims  trod, 
Men  bearded,  bald,  cowl'd,  uncowl'd,  shod,  unshod, 
Peel'd,  patch 'd,  and  piebald,  linsey-woolsey  brothers, 
Grave  mummers !  sleeveless  some,  and  shirtless  others. 
That  once  was  Britain — happy,  had  she  seen2 
No  fiercer  sons,  had  Easter  never  been  ! 
In  peace,  great  goddess,  ever  be  adored ; 
How  keen  the  war,  if  Dulness  draw  the  sword ! 
Thus  visit  not  thy  own  !  on  this  blest  age 

0  spread  thy  influence,  but  restrain  thy  rage. 
And  see,  my  son  !  the  hour  is  on  its  way, 

That  lifts  our  goddess  to  imperial  sway ; 

This  favourite  isle,  long  sever'd  from  her  reign, 

Dove-like,  she  gathers  to  her  wings  again.3 

Now  look  through  fate  !  behold  the  scene  she  draws  I4 

What  aids,  what  armies,  to  assert  her  cause  ! 

See  all  her  progeny,  illustrious  sight ! 

Behold,  and  count  them,  as  they  rise  to  light. 

As  Berecynthia,  while  her  offspring  vie 

In  homage  to  the  mother  of  the  sky, 

1  After  the  government  of  Rome  devolved  to  the  Popes,  their  zeal  was 
for  some  time  exerted  in  demolishing  the  heathen  temples  and  statues, 
so  that  the  Goths  scarce  destroyed  more  monuments  of  antiquity  out  of 
rage,  than  these  out  of  devotion.     At  length  they  spared  some  of  the 
temples,  by  converting  them  to  churches ;  and  some  of  the  statues,  by 
modifying  them  into  images  of  saints.     In  much  later  times,  it  was 
thought  necessary  to  change  the  statues  of  Apollo  and  Pallas,  on  the 
tomb  of  Sannazarius,  into  David  and  Judith;  the  lyre  easily  became  a 
harp,  and  the  Gorgon's  head  turned  to  that  of  Holofernes. 

2  Wars  in  England  anciently,  about  the  right  time  of  celebrating 
Easter. 

a  This  is  fulfilled  in  the  fourth  book. 

4  Of  poets,  antiquaries,  critics,  divines,  free-thinkers.  But  as  this 
revolution  is  only  here  set  on  foot  by  the  first  of  these  classes,  the  poets, 
they  only  are  here  particularly  celebrated,  and  they  only  properly  fall 
under  the  care  and  review  of  this  colleague  of  Dulness,  the  Laureate. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  439 

Surveys  around  her,  in  the  blest  abode, 

An  hundred  sons,  and  every  son  a  god: 

Not  with  less  glory  mighty  Dulness  crown'd, 

Shall  take  through  Grub-street  her  triumphant  round; 

And  her  Parnassus  glancing  o'er  at  once, 

Behold  an  hundred  sons,  and  each  a  dunce. 

Mark  first  that  youth  who  takes  the  foremost  place. 
And  thrusts  his  person  full  into  your  face. 
With  all  thy  father's  virtues  blest,  be  born ! 
And  a  new  Gibber  shall  the  stage  adorn. 

A  second  see,  by  meeker  manners  known, 
And  modest  as  the  maid  that  sips  alone ; 
From  the  strong  late  of  drams  if  thou  get  free, 
Another  Durfey,  Ward  !  shall  sing  in  thee. 
Thee  shall  each  ale-house,  thee  each  gill-house  mourn, 
And  answering  gin-shops  sourer  sighs  return. 

Jacob,  the  scourge  of  grammar,  mark  with  awe,1 
Nor  less  revere  him,  blunderbuss  ol  law. 
Lo  !  P — p — le's  brow,  tremendous  to  the  town, 
Horneck's  fierce  eye,  and  Roome's  funereal  frown,* 
Lo !  sneering  Goode,3  half  malice  and  half  whim, 
A  fiend  in  glee,  ridiculously  grim. 
Each  cygnet  sweet  of  Bath  and  Tunbridge  race, 
Whose  tuneful  whistling  makes  the  waters  pass:* 

1  "  This  gentleman  is  son  of  a  considerable  maltster  of  Romsey,  in  South- 
amptonshire,  and  bred  to  the  law  under  a  very  eminent  attnrney:  who, 
between  his  more  laborious  studies,  lias  diverted  himself  with  poetry.  He 
is  a  great  admirer  of  poets  and  their  works,  which  has  occasioned  him  to 
try  his  genius  that  way. — He  has  writ  in  prose  the  Lite*  of  the  Poet*, 
Eirav*,  and  a  great  many  law-books,  The  Accomplished  Conveyancer, 
Modern  Justice,  #c."  GILES  JACOB  of  himself,  Lives  of  Poets. 

-  These  two  were  virulent  party-writers,  worthily  coupled  together, 
and  one  would  think  prophetically,  since,  after  the  publishing  of  this 
piece,  the  former  dying,  the  hitter  succeeded  him  in  honour  and  employ- 
ment. The  first  was  1'hilip  Horneck,  author  of  a  Billingsgate  paper, 
called  The  High  German  Doctor.  Edward  Koome  was  son  of  an  under- 
taker for  funerals  in  Fleet  Street,  and  <rit  some  of  the  papers  called 
Pasquin,  where  by  malicious  innuendos  he  endeavoured  to  represent  our 
author  guilty  of  malevolent  practices  with  a  great  man  then  under  pro- 
secution of  Parliament.  P — le  was  the  author  of  some  vile  plays  and 
pamphlets,  lie  published  abuses  on  our  author  in  a  paper  called  The 
Prompter. 

a  An  ill-natured  critic,  who  wrote  a  satire  on  our  author,  called  The 
mock  jEsup,  and  many  anonymous  libels  in  newspapers  for  hire. 

4  There  were  several  successions  of  these  sort  of  minor  poets,  at 
Tunbridge,  Bath,  &c.,  singing  the  praise  of  the  annuals  flourishing  for 
that  season;  whose  names  indeed  would  be  nameless,  and  therefore  the 
poet  slurs  them  over  with  others  in  general. 


440  THE  DUNCTAD. 

Each  songster,  riddler,  every  nameless  name, 
All  crowd,  who  foremost  shall  be  damned  to  fame. 
Some  strain  in  rhyme ;  the  Muses  on  their  racks, 
Scream  like  the  winding  oi  ten  thousand  iacks : 
Some  tree  from  rhyme  or  reason,  rule  or  check, 
Break  Priscian's  head,  and  Pegasus's  neck ; 
Down,  down  they  larum,  with  impetuous  whirl, 
The  Pindars,  and  the  Miltons  of  a  Curl. 

Silence,  ye  wolves  !  while  Ralph1  to  Cynthia  howls, 
And  makes  night  hideous — Answer  him,  ye  owls  ! 

Sense,  speech,  and  measure,  living  tongues  and  dead, 
Let  all  give  way — and  Morris  may  be  read. 

Flow,  Welsted,2  flow !  like  thine  inspirer,  beer, 
Though  stale,  not  ripe ;  though  thin,  yet  never  clear ; 
So  sweetly  mawkish,  and  so  smoothly  dull ; 
Heady,  not  strong ;  o'erflowing,  though  not  full. 

Ah,  Dennis  !  Gildon,  ah  !  what  ill-starr'd  rage 
Divides  a  friendship  long  confirm 'd  by  age  ? 
Blockheads  with  reason  wicked  wits  abhor, 
But  fool  with  iool  is  barbarous  civil  war. 
Embrace,  embrace,  my  sons !  be  foes  no  more  ! 
Nor  glad  vile  poets  with  true  critics'  gore. 

Behold  yon  pair,3  in  strict  embraces  join'd: 
How  like  in  manners,  and  how  like  in  mind ! 
Equal  in  wit,  and  equally  polite, 
Shall  this  a  Pasquin,  that  a  Grumbler  write ; 
Like  are  their  merits,  like  rewards  they  share, 
That  shines  a  consul,  this  commissioner. 

1  James  Ralph,  a  name  inserted  after  the  first  editions,  not  known  to 
our  author  till  he  wrote  a  swearing  piece,  called  Sawney,  very  abusive  of 
Dr.  Swift,  Mr.  Gay,  and  himself.     This  low  writer  attended  his  own 
works  with  panegyrics  in  the  journals,  and  once  in  particular  praised 
himself  highly  above  Mr.  Addison,  in  wretched  remarks  upon   that 
author's  account  of  English  poets,  printed  in  a  London  journal,  Sept. 
1728.    He  ended  at  last  in  the  common  sink  of  all  such  writers,  a 
political  newspaper,  to  which  he^was  recommended  by  his  friend  Arnall, 
and  received  a  small  pittance  for  pay. 

2  "  Mr.  Weltted  had,  in  his  youth,  raised  so  great  expectations  of  his 
future  genius,  that  there  was  a  kind  of  struggle  between  the  most  eminent 
in  the  two  universities,  which  should  have  the  honour  of  his  education. 
To  compound  this,  he  (civilly)  became  a  member  of  both,  and  after  having 
passed  some  time  at  the  one,  he  removed  to  the  other. 

3  One  of  these  was  author  of  a  weekly  paper  called  The  Grumbler,  as 
the  other  was  concerned  in  another  called  Pasgvin,  in  which  Mr.  Pope 
was  abused  with  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  and  Bishop  of  Rochester. 
They  also  joined  in  apiece  against  his  first  undertaking  to  translate  the 
Iliad,  entitled  Uomeridet,  by  Sir  Iliad  Doggrel,  printed  1716. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  441 

u  But  who  is  he,  in  closet  close  y-pent, 
Of  sober  .face,  with  learned  dust  besprent  ? 
Eight  well  mine  eyes  arede1  the  myster  wight, 
On  parchment  scraps  y-fed,  and  Wormius  Eight.3 
To  iuture  ages  may  thy  dulness  last, 
As  thou  preserv'st  the  dulness  of  the  past ! 

There,  dim  in  clouds,  the  poring  scholiasts  mark, 
Wits,  who  like  owls,  see  only  in  the  dark,3 
A  lumberhouse  of  books  in  every  head, 
For  ever  reading,  never  to  be  read  ! 

But,  where  each  silence  lifts  its  modern  type, 
History  her  pot,  Divinity  her  pipe, 
While  proud  Philosophy  repines  to  show, 
Dishonest  sight !  his  breeches  rent  below; 
Imbrown'd  with  native  bronze,  lo  !  Henley  stands/ 
Tuning  his  voice,  and  balancing  his  hands. 

1  Read,  or  peruse;  though  sometimes  used  for  counsel.     "READE  THT 
BEAD,  take  thy  consaile."  Thomas  Sternhold,  in  his  trans!  at  ion  of  the  first 
Psalm  into  English  metre,  hath  wisely  made  use  of  this  word, 

The  man  is  blest  that  hath  not  bent 

To  wicked  READ  his  ear. 

But  in  the  last  spurious  editions  of  the  singing  Psalms  the  word  READ  is 
changed  into  men.  I  say  spurious  editions,  because  not  only  here,  but 
quite  throughout  the  whole  book  of  Psalms,  are  strange  alterations,  all 
for  the  worse  ;  and  yet  the  title-page  stands  as  it  used  to  do !  and  all 
(which  is  aliominalle  in  any  book,  much  more  in  a  sacred  work)  is 
ascribed  to  Thomas  Sternhold,  John  Hopkins,  and  others ;  I  am  con- 
fident, were  Sternhold  and  Hopkins  now  living,  they  would  proceed 
against  the  innovators  as  cheats. 

2  Let  not  this  name,  purely  fictitious,  be  conceited  to  mean  the 
learned  Olaus  Wormius ;  much  less  (as  it  was  unwarrantably  foisted 
into  the  surreptitious  editions)  our  own  antiquary,  Mr.  Thomas  Hearne, 
who  had  no  way  aggrieved  our  Poet,  but  on  the  contrary  published 
many  curious  tracts  which  he  hath  to  his  great  contentment  perused. 

3  These  few  lines  exactly  describe  the  right  verbal  critic :  The  darker 
his  author  is,  the  better  he  is  pleased ;  like  the  famous  quack  doctor, 
who  put  up  in  his  bills,  he.  delighted  in  matters  of  difficulty.     Somebody 
laid  well  of  these  men,  that  their  heads  were  libraries  out  of  order. 

*  J.  Henley  the  orator,  who  was  a  member  of  St.  John's  College, 
Cambridge,  and  had  been  admitted  to  priest's  orders,  commenced 
preaching  at  what  he  styled  his  "  Oratory,"  in  Newport  Market,  on 
tfie  Sundays  upon  theologic  il  matters,  and  on  the  Wednesday*  lectured 
upon  all  other  sciences  Each  auditor  paid  one  shilling.  He  declaimed 
some  years  against  the  greatest  persons,  and  occasionally  did  our  author 
that  honour.  After  having  stood  *ome  prosecutions,  he  turned  his 
rhetoric  to  buffoonery  upon  all  public  and  private  occurrences.  All 
this  passed  in  the  same  room ;  where  sometimes  he  broke  jests,  and 
sometimes  that  bread  which  he  called  the  primitive  eucharist. 

39 


442  TUE   DUNCIAD. 

How  fluent  nonsense  trickles  trom  his  tongue  ! 
How  sweet  the  periods,  neither  said  nor  sung ! 
Still  break  the  benches,  Henley,  with  thy  strain, 
While  Sherlock,  Hare,  and  Gibson1  preach  in  vain. 
O  great  restorer  of  the  good  old  stage, 
Preacher  at  once,  and  zany  of  thy  age  ! 

0  worthy  thou  of  Egypt's  wise  abodes, 

A  decent  priest,  where  monkeys  were  the  gods  ! 
But  fate  with  butchers  placed  thy  priestly  stall, 
Meek  modern  faith  to  murder,  hack,  and  maul ; 
And  bade  thee  live,  to  crown  Britannia's  praise, 
In  Toland's,  Tindal's,  and  in  Woolston's  days.8 

Yet  oh,  my  sons  !  a  father's  words  attend : 
(So  may  the  fates  preserve  the  ears  you  lend) 
'Tis  yours,  a  Bacon  or  a  Locke  to  blame, 
A  Newton's  genius,  or  a  Milton's  flame : 
But  oh  !  with  One,  immortal  One,  dispense, 
The  source  of  Newton's  light,  of  Bacon's  sense  ! 
Content,  each  emanation  oi  his  fires 
That  beams  on  earth,  each  virtue  he  inspires, 
Each  art  he  prompts,  each  charm  he  can  create, 
Whate'er  he  gives,  are  given  for  you  to  hate. 
Persist  by  all  divine  in  man  unawed, 
But  "  Learn,  ye  DUNCES!  not  to  scorn  your  GOD." 

Thus  he,  for  then  a  ray  of  reason  stole 
Half  through  the  solid  darkness  of  his  soul ; 
But  soon  the  cloud  return'd — and  thus  the  sire: 
See  now,  what  Dulness  and  her  sons  adniire  ! 
See  what  the  charms,  that  smite  the  simple  heart 
Not  touch'd  by  nature,  and  not  reach'd  by  art. 
His  never-blushing  head  he  turn'd  aside, 
(Not  half  so  pleased  when  Goodman  prophesied) 
And  look'd,  and  saw  a  sable  Sorcerer'  rise, 
Swift  to  whose  hand  a  winged  volume  flies : 
All  sudden,  gorgons  hiss,  and  dragons  glare, 
And  ten-horn'd  fiends  and  giants  rush  to  war. 

1  Bishops  of  Salisbury,  Chichester,  and  London. 

2  Of  Toland  and    Tindal,  see   Book   II.      Tho.  Woolston  was   an 
impious  madman,  who  wrote  in   a  most  insolent   style  against   the 
Miracles  of  the  Gospel,  in  the  year  1726. 

3  Dr.  Faustus,  the  subject  of  a  set  of  farces,  which  lasted  in  vogue 
two  or  three  seasons,  in  which  both  playhouses  strove  to  outdo  each 
other  for  some  years.     All  the  extravagancies  in  the  sixteen  lines  fol- 
lowing were  introduced  on  the  stage,  and  frequented  by  persons  of  th$ 
first  quality  in  England,  to  the  twentieth  and  thirtieth  time. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  443 

Hell  rises,  Heaven  descends,  and  dance  on  earth  :l 
Gods,  imps,  and  monsters,  music,  rage,  and  mirth, 
A  fire,  a  jig,  a  battle,  and  a  ball, 
Till  one  wide  conflagration  swallows  all. 

Thence  a  new  world,  to  nature's  laws  unknown, 
Breaks  out  refulgent,  with  a  heaven  its  own: 
Another  Cynthia  her  new  journey  runs, 
And  other  planets  circle  other  suns. 
The  forests  dance,  the  rivers  upward  rise, 
Whales  sport  in  woods,  and  dolphins  in  the  skies ; 
And  last,  to  give  the  whole  creation  grace, 
Lo  !  one  vast  egg  produces  human  race. 

Joy  fills  his  soul,  joy  innocent  of  thought ; 
What  power,hecries,what  power  these  wonders  wrought? 
Son,  what  thou  seek'st  is  in  thee !  Look,  and  find 
Each  monster  meets  his  likeness  in  thy  mind. 
Yet  wouldst  thou  more  ?     In  yonder  cloud  behold, 
Whose  sarsnet  skirts  are  edged  with  flamy  gold. 
A  matchless  youth  !  his  nod  these  worlds  controls, 
Wings  the  red  lightning,  and  the  thunder  rolls. 
Angel  of  Dulness,  sent  to  scatter  round 
Her  magic  charms  o'er  all  unclassic  ground : 
Yon  stars,  yon  suns,  he  rears  at  pleasure  higher, 
Illumes  their  light,  and  sets  their  flames  on  tire. 
Immortal  Rich  !*  how  calm  he  sits  at  ease, 
'Mid  snows  of  paper,  and  fierce  hail  of  pease; 
And,  proud  his  mistress'  orders  to  perform, 
Hides  in  the  whirlwind,  and  directs  the  storm. 

But  lo  !  to  dark  encounter  in  mid  air 
New  wizards  rise ;  I  see  my  Cibber  there  ! 
Booth '  in  his  cloudy  tabernacle  shrined, 
On  grinning  dragons  thou  shalt  mount  the  wind 
Dire  is  the  conflict,  dismal  is  the  din, 
Here  shouts  all  Drury,  there  all  Lincoln's-inn ; 
Contending  theatres  our  empire  raise, 
Alike  their  labours,  and  alike  their  praise. 

And  are  these  wonders,  son,  to  thee  unknown  ? 
Unknown  to  thee  ?     These  wonders  are  thy  own. 

1  This  monstrous  absurdity  was  actually  represented  in  Theobald's 
Rape  of  Proserpine. 

2  Mr.  John  Uich.  Manager  of  the  Theatre  Royal,  Covent -garden, 
was  the  first  that  excelled  this  way. 

3  Booth  and  Cibber  were  joint  managers  ol  the  Theatre  in  Drury- 
lane. 


444  THE   DUJTCIAD. 

These  Fate  reserved  to  grace  thy  reign  divine, 
Foreseen  by  me,  but  ah  !  withheld  from  mine. 
In  Lud's  old  walls,  though  long  I  ruled,  renown'd 
Far  as  loud  Bow's  stupendous  bells  resound ; 
Though  my  own  Aldermen  conferr'd  the  bays, 
To  me  committing  their  eternal  praise, 
Their  full-fed  heroes,  their  pacific  mayors, 
Their  annual  trophies,1  and  their  monthly  wars: 
Though  long  my  party2  built  on  me  their  hopes, 
For  writing  pamphlets,  and  for  roasting  popes ; 
Yet  lo  !  in  me  what  authors  have  to  brag  on  ! 
Reduced  at  last  to  hiss  in  my  own  dragon. 
Avert  it,  Heaven !  that  thou,  my  Gibber,  e'er 
Shouldst  wag  a  serpent-tail  in  Smithfield  fair  ! 
Like  the  vile  straw  that's  blown  about  the  streets, 
The  needy  poet  sticks  to  all  he  meets, 
Coach'd,  carted,  trod  upon ;  now  loose,  now  faat> 
And  carried  off  in  some  dog's  tail  at  last. 
Happier  thy  fortunes  !  like  a  rolling  stone, 
Thy  giddy  dulness  still  shall  lumber  on, 
Safe  in  its  heaviness,  shall  never  stray, 
But  lick  up  every  blockhead  in  the  way. 
Thee  shall  the  patriot,  thee  the  courtier  taste, 
And  every  year  be  duller  than  the  last. 
Till  raised  from  booths,  to  theatre,  to  court, 
Her  seat  imperial  Dulness  shall  transport. 
Already  opera  prepares  the  way, 
The  sure  fore-runner  of  her  gentle  sway: 
Let  her  thy  heart ;  next  drabs  and  dice,  engage, 
The  third  made  passion  of  thy  doting  age. 
Teach  thou  the  warbling  Polypheme '  to  roar, 
And  scream  thyself  as  none  e'er  scream'd  before ! 

1  Annual  trophies,  on  the  Lord-mayor's  day ;  and  monthly  wart  in  the 
Artillery-giound. 

2  Settle,  like  most  party-writers,  was  very  uncertain  in  his  political 
principles.     He  was  employed  to  hold  the  pen  in  the  character  of  a 
popith  successor,  but  afterwards  printed  his  Narrative  on  the  other  side. 
He  had  managed  the  ceremony  of  a  famous  Pope-burning  on  Nov.  17, 
1680,  then  became  a  trooper  in  King  James's  army,  at  Hounslow-heath. 
After  the  Revolution  he  kept  a  booth  at  Bartholomew-fair,  where  in  the 
droll  called  St.  George  for  England,  he  acted  in  his  old  age  in  a  dragon 
of  green  leather  of  his  own  invention ;  he  was  at  last  taken  into  the 
Charter-house,  and  there  died,  aged  sixty  years. 

8  He  translated  the  Italian  opera  of  Polifemo;  but  unfortunately  lost 
the  whole  jest  of  the  story.    The  Cyclops  asks  Ulysses  his  name,  who 


THE  DUNCIAD.  445 

To  aid  our  cause,  if  Heaven  thou  canst  not  bend, 
Hell  thou  shalt  move ;  for  Faustus  is  our  friend : 
Pluto  with  Cato1  thou  for  this  shalt  join, 
And  link  the  Mourning  Bride  to  Proserpine. 
Grub-street !  thy  fall  should  men  and  gods  conspire, 
Thy  stage  shall  stand,  ensure  it  but  from  lire.2 
Another  ^Eschylus  appears  !3  prepare 
For  new  abortions,  all  ye  pregnant  fair ! 
In  flames,  like  Semele's,  be  brought  to  bed, 
While  opening  Hell  spouts  wild-fire  at  your  head. 

Now,  Bavius,  take  the  poppy  from  thy  brow, 
And  place  it  here  !  here  all  ye  heroes  bow  ! 
This,  this  is  he,  foretold  by  ancient  rhymes: 
The  Augustus  born  to  bring  Saturnian  times. 
Signs  following  signs  lead  on  the  mighty  year ! 
See  !  the  dull  stars  roll  round  and  re-appear. 
See,  see,  our  own  true  Phoebus  wears  the  bays  ! 
Our  Midas  sits  lord  chancellor  of  plays  ! 
On  poets'  tombs  see  Benson's  titles  writ  !4 
Lo  !  Ambrose  Philips  is  preferr'd  for  wit ! 

tells  him  his  name  is  Noman.  After  his  eye  is  put  out,  he  roars  and 
calls  the  brother  Cyclops  to  his  aid  :  They  inquire  who  hat  hurt  him  T  he 
answers  Noman ;  whereupon  they  all  go  away  again.  Our  ingenious 
translator  made  Ulysses  answer,  /  take  no  name,  whereby  all  that 
followed  became  unintelligible. 

1  Names  of  miserable  farces  which  it  was  the  custom  to  act  at  the 
end  of  the  best  tragedies,  to  spoil  the  digestion  of  the  audience. 

2  In  the  farce  of  Proserpine  a  corn-field  was  set  on  fire :  whereupon 
the  other  play-house  had  a  barn  burnt  down  for  the  recreation  of  the 
spectators.    They  also  rivalled  each  other  in  showing  the  burnings  of 
hell-fire,  in  Dr.  Faustus. 

3  It  is  reported  of  ^Eschylus,  that  when  his  tragedy  of  the  Furies  was 
acted,  the  audience  were  so  terrified  that  the  children  fell  into  fits,  and 
the  women  miscarried. 

4  Benson  (Surveyor  of  the  buildings  to  his  Majesty  King  George  I.) 
gave  in  a  report  to  the  Lords,  that  their  house  and  the  Painted  Chamber 
adjoining  were  in  immediate  danger  of  falling.     Whereupon  the  lords 
met  in  committee  to  appoint  some  other  place  to  sit  in,  while  the  house 
should  be  taken  down.     But  it  being  proposed  to  cause  some  other 
builders  first  to  inspect  it,  they  found  it  in  very  good  condition.     The 
lords,  upon  this,  were  going  upon  an  address  to  the  king  against  Benson, 
for  such  a  misrepresentation  ;  but  the  Earl  of  Sundcrland,  then  secre- 
tary, gave  them  an  assurance  that  his  Majesty  would  remove  him.  which 
was  done  accordingly.  In  favour  of  this  man,  the  famous  Sir  Christopher 
Wren,  who  had  been  architect  to  the  crown  for  above  fifty  years,  who 
built  most  of  the  churches  in  London,  laid  the  first  stone  of  St.  Paul's, 
and  lived  to  finish  it,  had  been  displaced  from  his  employment  at  the 
age  of  near  ninety  years. 

39* 


446  THE   DUNCIAD. 

See  under  PJpley  rise  a  new  Whitehall, 
While  Jones'  and  Boyle's  united  labours  fall;1 
While  Wren  with  sorrow  to  the  grave  descends, 
Gay  dies  unpension'd2  with  a  hundred  friends, 
Hibernian  politics,  O  Swift !  thy  fate  ; 
And  Pope's  ten  years  to  comment  and  translate. 

Proceed,  great  days !  till  learning  fly  the  shore, 
Till  birch  shall  blush  with  noble  blood  no  more, 
Till  Thames  see  Eton's  sons  for  ever  play, 
Till  Westminster's  whole  year  be  holiday, 
Till  Isis'  elders  reel,  their  pupils  sport, 
And  Alma  mater  lie  dissolved  in  port ! 

Enough !  enough  !  the  raptured  monarch  cries, 
And  through  the  ivory  gate  the  vision  flies. 


BOOK  THE  FOURTH. 

ARGUMENT. 

THE  Poet  being,  in  this  book,  to  declare  the  completion  of  the  propJiecies 
mentioned  at  the  end  of  the  former,  makes  a  new  invocation ;  as  the 
greater  poets  are  wont,  when  some  high  and  worthy  matter  is  to  be 
sung.  He  shows  the  goddess  coming  in  her  majesty,  to  destroy  order 
and  tcience,  and  to  substitute  the  kingdom  of  the  dull  upon  earth.  How 
she  leads  captive  the  sciences,  and  silenceth  the  muses  ;  and  what  they 
be  who  succeed  in  their  stead.  All  her  children,  by  a  wonderful  attrac- 
tion, are  drawn  about  her ;  and  bear  along  witli  them  divers  others,  who 
promote  her  empire  by  connivance,  weak  resistance,  or  discouragement 
of  arts;  such  as  half-wits,  tasteless  sdmjrers,  vain  pretenders,  the 
flatterers  of  dunces,  or  the  patrons  of  them."  All  these  crowd  round 
her;  one  of  them,  offering  to  approacli  her,  is  driven  back  by  a  rival, 
but  she  commends  and  encourages  both.  The  first  who  speak  in  form 


1  At  the  time  when  this  poem  was  written,  the  Banqueting-house  of 
Whitehall,  the  church  and  piazza  of  Covent-garden,  and  the  palace  and 
chapel  of  Somerset-house,  the  works  of  the  famous  Inigo  Jones,  had 
been  for  many  years  so  neglected,  as  to  be  in  danger  of  ruin.     The 
portico  of  Covent-garden  church   had   been  just   then  restored   and 
beautified  at  the  expense  of  the  Earl  of  Burlington,  who,  at  the  same 
time,  by  his  publication   of  the   designs   of  that  great   master   and 
Palladio,  as  well  as  by  many  noble  buildings  of  his  own,  revived  the 
true  taste  of  architecture  in  this  kingdom. 

2  See  Mr.  Gay's  fable  of  the  Hare  and  many  Friends.     This  gentleman 
was  early  in  the  friendship  of  our  Author,  which  continued  to  his  death. 
He  wrote  several  works  of  humour  with  great  success,  the  Shepherd's 
Week,  Trivia,  the  What-d'ye-call  it,  Fables,  and  lastly,  the  celebrated 
Beggar's  Opera,  a  piece  of  satire,  which  hit  all  tastes  and  degrees  of 
men,  from  those  of  the  highest  quality  to  the  very  rabble. 


TUB   DUNCIAD.  447 

are  the  Geniuses  of  the  schools,  who  assure  her  of  their  care  to  adrance 
her  cause,  by  confining  youth  to  words,  and  keeping  them  out  of  the 
way  of  real  knowledge.  Their  address,  and  her  gracious  answer;  with 
her  charge  to  them  and  the  Universities.  The  Universities  appear  by 
their  proper  deputies,  and  assure  her  that  the  same  method  is  observed 
in  the  progress  of  education,  the  speech  of  Arittarchut  on  this  subject. 
They  are  driven  off  by  a  band  of  young  gentlemen  returned  from  travel 
with  their  tutors,  one  of  whom  delivers  to  the  goddess,  in  a  polite 
oration,  an  account  of  the  whole  conduct  and  fruits  of  their  travels, 
presenting  to  her  at  the  same  time  a  young  nobleman  perfectly  accom- 
plished. She  receives  him  graciously,  and  indues  him  with  the  happy 
quality  of  want  of  shame.  She  sees  loitering  about  her  a  number  of 
indolent  persons  abandoning  all  business  and  duty,  and  dying  with  lazi- 
ness: to  these  approaches  the  antiquary  Anniut,  intreating  her  to  make 
them  virtuosos,  and  assign  them  over  to  him:  but  Mummius,  another 
antiquary,  complaining  of  his  fraudulent  proceeding,  she  finds  a  method 
to  reconcile  their  difference.  Then  enter  a  troop  of  people  fantastically 
adorned,  offer.ng  her  strange  and  exotic  presents:  amongst  them  one 
stands  forth  and  demands  justice  on  another,  who  had  deprived  him  of 
one  of  the  greatest  curiosities  in  nature:  but  he  justifies  himself  so  well, 
that  the  goddess  gives  them  both  her  approbation.  She  recommends 
to  them  to  find  proper  employment  for  the  indotents  before  mentioned  in 
the  study  of  butterflies,  shells,  birds'-nests,  moss,  $c ,  but  with  particular 
caution,  not  to  proceed  beyond  trifles,  to  any  useful  or  extensive  views  of 
nature,  or  of  the  Author  of  nature.  Against  the  last  of  these  apprehen- 
sions, she  is  secured  by  a  hearty  address  from  the  minute  philosophers  and 
freethinkers,  one  of  whom  speaks  in  the  name  of  the  rest  The  youth 
thus  instructed  and  principled,  are  delivered  to  her  in  a  body,  by  the 
hands  of  Silenu*;  and  then  admitted  to  taste  the  cup  of  the  Magus  her 
high  priest,  which  causes  a  total  oblivion  of  all  obligations,  divine,  civil, 
moral,  or  rational.  To  these  her  adepts  she  sends  priest*,  attendants,  and 
comforters,  of  various  kinds;  confers  on  them  orders  and  degrees;  and 
then,  dismissing  them  with  a  speech,  confirming  to  each  his  privileges, 
and  telling  what  she  expects  from  each,  concludes  with  a  yawn  of  extra- 
ordinary virtue ;  the  progress  and  effects  whereof  on  all  orders  of  men, 
and  the  consummation  of  all,  in  the  restoration  of  night  and  chaot,  con- 
clude the  poem. 

YET,  yet  a  moment,  one  dim  ray  of  light 
Indulge,  dread  Chaos,  and  eternal  Night ! 
Of  darkness  visible  so  much  be  lent, 
As  half  to  show,  half  veil  the  deep  intent. 
Ye  powers !  whose  mysteries  restored  I  sing, 
To  whom  Time  bears  me  on  his  rapid  wing, 
Suspend  awhile  your  force,  inertly  strong, 
Then  take  at  once  the  poet  and  the  song. 

Now  flamed  the  dog-star's  unpropitious  ray, 
Smote  every  brain,  and  wither'd  every  bay ; 
Sick  was  the  sun,  the  owl  forsook  his  bower, 
The  moon-struck  prophet  felt  the  madding  hour : 


448  THE   DUNCIAD. 

Then  rose  the  seed  of  Chaos,  and  of  Night, 
To  blot  out  order,  and  extinguish  light. 
Of  dull  and  venal  a  new  world  to  mould, 
And  bring  Saturnian  days  of  lead  and  gold. 

She  mounts  the  throne :  her  head  a  cloud  conceal'd, 
In  broad  effulgence  all  below  reveal'd, 
('Tis  thus  aspiring  Dulness  ever  shines) 
Soft  on  her  lap  her  laureate  son  reclines. 

Beneath  her  foot-stool,  Science  groans  in  chains, 
And  Wit  dreads  exile,  penalties,  and  pains. 
There  foam'd  rebellious  Logic,  gagg'd  and  bound, 
There,  stript,  fair  Rhetoric  languish'd  on  the  ground ; 
His  blunted  arms  by  Sophistry  are  borne, 
And  shameless  Billingsgate  her  robes  adorn 
Morality,  by  her  false  guardians  drawn,1 
Chicane  in  furs,  and  Casuistry  in  lawn, 
Gasps,  as  they  straiten  at  each  end  the  cord, 
And  dies,  when  Dulness  gives  her  Page  the  word. 
Mad  Mathesis  alone  was  unconfined, 
Too  mad  for  mere  material  chains  to  bind, 
Now  to  pure  space  lifts  her  ecstatic  stare, 
Now  running  round  the  circle,  finds  it  square. 
But  held  in  ten-fold  bonds  the  Muses  lie, 
Watch'd  both  by  Envy's  and  by  Flattery's  eye: 
There  to  her  heart  sad  Tragedy  addrest 
The  dagger  wont  to  pierce  the  tyrant's  breast; 
But  sober  History  restrain'd  her  rage, 
And  promised  vengeance  on  a  barbarous  age. 
There  sunk  Thalia,  nerveless,  cold,  and  dead, 
Had  not  her  sister  Satire  held  her  head : 
Nor  could'st  thou,3  Chesterfield !  a  tear  refuse ; 
Thou  wept'st,  and  with  thee  wept  each  gentle  Muse. 

1  Morality  is  the  daughter  of  Astrcea.  This  alludes  to  the  mythology 
of  the  ancient  poets;  who  tell  us  that  in  the  gold  and  silver  ages,  or  in 
the  itate  of  nature,  the  gods  cohabited  with  men  here  on  earth ;  but 
when,  by  reason  of  human  degeneracy,  men  were  forced  to  have  recourse 
to  a  magistrate,  and  that  the  ages  of  bratt  and  iron  came  on,  (that  is, 
when  laws  were  wrote  on  brazen  tablets  and  inforced  by  the  sword  of 
justice,)  the  celestials  soon  retired  from  earth,  and  Astrsea  last  of  all ; 
and  then  it  was  she  left  this  her  orphan  daughter  in  the  hands  of  the 
guardian*  aforesaid. 

-  There  was  a  judge  of  this  name,  always  ready  to  hang  any  man,  of 
which  he  was  suffered  to  give  a  hundred  miserable  examples  during  a 
long  life,  even  to  his  dotage. 

3  This  noble  person,  in  the  year  1737,  when  the  act  aforesaid  was 
brought  into  the  House  of  Lords,  opposed  it  in  an  excellent  speech  (says 
Mr.  Gibber)  "  with  a  lively  spirit  and  uncommon  eloquence." 


THE  DUNCIAR  449 

When  la !  a  harlot  form  soft  sliding  by, 
With  mincing  step,  small  voice,  and  languid  eye ; 
Foreign  her  air,  her  robe's  discordant  pride 
In  patchwork  fluttering,  and  her  head  aside : 
By  singing  peers  upheld  on  either  hand. 
She  tripp'd  and  laugh'd,  too  pretty  much  to  stand; 
Cast  on  the  prostrate  Nine  a  scornful  look, 
Then  thus  in  quaiut  recitative  spoke. 

O  cara,  !  car  a  !  silence  all  that  train : 
Joy  to  great  Chaos  !  let  division  reign : 
Chromatic  tortures  soon  shall  drive  them  hence, 
Break  all  their  nerves,  and  fritter  all  their  sense : 
One  trill  shall  harmonize  joy,  grief,  and  rage , 
Wake  the  dull  church,  and  lull  the  ranting  stage ; 
To  the  same  notes  thy  sons  shall  hum,  or  snore, 
And  all  thy  yawning  daughters  cry  encore. 
Another  Phoebus,  thy  own  Phoebus,  reigns, 
Joys  in  my  jigs,  and  dances  in  my  chains. 
But  soon,  ah  soon,  rebellion  will  commence, 
If  music  meanly  borrows  aid  from  sense : 
Strong  in  new  arms,  lo !  giant  Handel  stands, 
Like  bold  Briareus,  -with  a  hundred  hands ; 
To  stir,  to  rouse,  to  shake  the  soul  he  comes, 
And  Jove's  own  thunders  follow  Mars's  drums. 
Arrest  him,  empress ;  or  you  sleep  no  more — 
She  heard,  and  drove  him  to  the  Hibernian  shore. 

And  now  had  Fame's  posterior  trumpet  blown, 
And  all  the  nations  summon'd  to  the  throne. 
The  young,  the  old,  who  feel  her  inward  sway, 
One  instinct  seizes,  and  transports  away. 
None  need1  a  guide,  by  sure  attraction  led, 
And  strong  impulsive  gravity  of  head : 
None  want  a  place,  for  all  their  centre  found, 
Hung  to  the  goddess,  and  cohered  around. 
Not  closer,  orb  in  orb,  conglobetl  are  seen 
The  buzzing  bees  about  their  dusky  queen. 

The  gathering  number,  as  it  moves  along, 
Involves  a  vast  involuntary  throng, 
Who  gently  drawn,  and  struggling  less  and  less, 
Roll  in  her  vortex,  and  her  power  confess. 
Not  those  alone  who  passive  own  her  laws, 
But  who,  veak  rebels,  more  advance  her  cause. 
Whate'er  of  dunce  hi  college  or  in  town 
Sneers  at  another,  in  toupee  or  gown ; 


450  THE   DUNCIAD. 

Whate'er  of  mongrel  no  one  class  admits, 
A  wit  with  dunces,  and  a  dunce  with  wita, 

Nor  absent  they,  no  members  of  her  state, 
Who  pay  her  homage  in  her  sons,  the  great; 
Who,  false  to  Phoebus,  bow  the  knee  to  Baal ; 
Or,  impious,  preach  his  word  without  a  call. 
Patrons,  who  sneak  from  living  worth  to  dead, 
Withhold  the  pension,  and  set  up  the  head; 
Or  vest  dull  Flattery  in  the  sacred  gown ; 
Or  give  from  fool  to  fool  the  laurel  crown. 
And  (last  and  worst)  with  all  the  cant  of  wit, 
Without  the  soul,  the  Muse's  hypocrite. 
There  march'd  the  bard  and  blockhead,  side  by  side, 
Who  rhymed  for  hire,  and  patronised  for  pride. 
Narcissus,  praised  with  all  a  parson's  power, 
Look'd  a  white  lily  sunk  beneath  a  shower. 
There  moved  Montalto  with  superior  air; 
His  stretch'd-out  arm  display'd  a  volume  fair; 
Courtiers  and  patriots  in  two  ranks  divide, 
Through  both  he  pass'd,  and  bow'd  from  side  to  side: 
But  as  in  graceful  act,  with  awful  eye 
Composed  he  stood,  bold  Benson1  thrust  him  by: 
On  two  unequal  crutches  propp'd  he  came, 
Milton's  on  this,  on  that  one  Johnston's  name. 
The  decent  knight2  retired  with  sober  rage, 
Withdrew  his  hand,  and  closed  the  pompous  page. 
But — happy  for  him  as  the  times  went  then— 
Appear'd  Appollo's  mayor  and  aldermen, 
On  whom  three  hundred  gold-capp'd  youth  await, 
To  lug  the  ponderous  volume  off  in  state. 

When  Dulness,  smiling — "  Thus  revive  the  wits ! 
But  murder  first,  and  mince  them  all  to  bits; 
As  erst  Medea  (cruel,  so  to  save  !) 
A  new  edition  of  old  ^Eson  gave  ; 
Let  standard  authors,  thus  like  trophies  borne, 
Appear  more  glorious  as  more  hack'd  and  torn, 
And  you,  my  critics  !  in  the  chequer'd  shade, 
Admire  new  light  through  holes  yourselves  have  made. 

1  This  man  endeavoured  to  raise  himself  to  fame  by  erecting  monu- 
ments, striking  coins,  setting  up  heads,  and  procuring  translations,  of 
Milton;  and  afterwards  by  a  great  passion  for  Arthur  Joftnsto'  ,  version 
of  the  Psalms,  of  which  he  printed  many  fine  editions.   He  was  also  the 
means  of  raising  the  monument  to  Milton  in  Westminster  Abbey. 

2  Sir  Thomas  Hanmer,  who  was  about  to  publish  a  very  pompous 
edition  of  Shaksperc, 


THE  DUNCIAD. 

Leave  uol  a  foot  of  verse,  a  foot  of  stone, 
A  p'  ^e,  a  grave,  that  they  can  call  their  own ; 
But  spread,  my  sons,  your  glory  thin  or  thick, 
On  passive  paper,  or  on  solid  brick. 
So  by  each  bard  an  alderman  shall  sit, 
A  heavy  lord  shall  hang  at  every  wit, 
And  while  on  Fame's  triumphal  car  they  ride, 
Some  slave  of  mine  be  pinion'd  to  their  side. 

Now  crowds  on  crowds  around  the  goddess  press, 
Each  eager  to  present  the  first  address. 
Dunce  scorning  dunce  beholds  the  next  advance, 
But  fop  shows  fop  superior  complaisance. 
When  lo  !  a  spectre  rose,  whose  index-hand 
Held  forth  the  virtue  of  the  dreadful  wand; 
His  beaver'd  brow  a  birchen  garland  wears, 
Dropping  with  infants'  blood,  and  mothers'  tears. 
O'er  every  vein  a  shuddering  horror  runs ; 
Eton  and  Winton  shake  through  all  their  sons. 
All  flesh  is  humbled,  Westminster's  bold  race 
Shrink,  and  confess  the  genius  of  the  place: 
The  pale  boy-senator  yet  tingling  stands, 
And  holds  his  breeches  close  with  both  his  hands. 

Then  thus.  Since  man  from  beast  by  words  is  known, 
Words  are  man's  province,  words  we  teach  alone. 
When  reason,  doubtful,  like  the  Samiau  letter,1 
Points  him  two  ways,  the  narrower  is  the  better. 
Placed  at  the  door  of  learning,  youth  to  guide, 
We  never  suffer  it  to  stand  too  wide. 
To  ask,  to  guess,  to  know  as  they  commence, 
As  fancy  opens  the  quick  springs  of  sense, 
We  ply  the  memory,  we  load  the  brain, 
Bind  rebel  wit,  and  double  chain  on  chain, 
Confine  the  thought,  to  exercise  the  breath; 
And  keep  them  in  the  pale  of  words  till  death. 
Whate'er  the  talents,  or  howe'er  design'd, 
We  hang  one  jingling  padlock  on  the  mind: 
A  poet  the  first  day  he  dips  his  quill ; 
And  what  the  last?  a  very  poet  still. 
Pity  !  the  charm  works  only  in  our  wall, 
Lost,  lost  too  soon  in  yonder  house  or  hall.* 

1  The  letter  Y,  used  by  Pythagoras  as  an  emblem  of  the  different  roads 
to  Virtue  and  Vice. 

2  Weatminster-Hall  and  the  House  of  Commons. 


452  THE  DUNCIAD. 

There  truant  WYNDHAM  every  muse  gave  o'er, 
There  TALBOT  sunk,  and  was  a  wit  no  more ! 
How  sweet  an  Ovid,  MURRAY  was  our  boast ! 
How  many  Martials  were  in  PULTENEY  lost ! 
Else  sure  some  bard,  to  our  eternal  praise, 
In  twice  ten  thousand  rhyming  nights  and  days, 
Had  reach'd  the  work,  the  all  that  mortal  can ; 
And  South  beheld  that  master-piece  of  man.1 

O  (cried  the  goddess)  for  some  pedant  reign  ! 
Some  gentle  JAMES,  to  bless  the  land  again  ;3 
To  stick  the  doctor's  chair  into  the  throne, 
Give  law  to  words,  or  war  with  words  alone, 
Senates  and  courts  with  Greek  and  Latin  rule. 
And  turn  the  council  to  a  grammar  school ! 
For  sure,  if  Dulness  sees  a  grateful  day, 
Tis  in  the  shade  of  arbitrary  sway 
O !  if  my  sons  may  learn  one  earthly  thing, 
Teach  but  that  one,  sufficient  for  a  king ; 
That  which  my  priests,  and  mine  alone,  maintain, 
Which,  as  it  dies  or  lives,  we  fall  or  reign  : 
May  you,  may  Cam,  and  Isis  preach  it  long ! 
"  The  EIGHT  DIVINE  of  Kings  to  govern  wrong." 

Prompt  at  the  call,  around  the  goddess  roll 
Broad  hats,  and  hoods,  and  caps,  a  sable  shoal : 
Thick  and  more  thick  the  black  blockade  extends, 
A  hundred  head  of  Aristotle's  friends. 
Nor  wert  thou,  Isis !  wanting  to  the  day, — 
Tho'  Christchurch  long  kept  prudishly  away. — 
Each  staunch  polemic,  stubborn  as  a  rock, 
Each  fierce  logician,  still  expelling  Locke,3 
Came  whip  and  spur,  and  dash'd  through  thin  and  thick, 
On  German  Crouzaz  and  Dutch  Burgersdyck. 
As  many  quit  the  streams4  that  murmuring  fall 
To  lull  the  sons  of  Margaret  and  Clare-hall, 

1  Viz.,  an  epigram.  The  famous  Dr.  South  declared  a  perfect  epigram 
to  be  as  difficult  a  performance  as  an  epic  poem.     And  the  critics  say, 
"an  epic  poem  is  the  greatest  work  human  nature  is  capable  of." 

2  "Wilson  tells  us  that  this  king,  James  the  First,  took  upon  himself 
to  teach  the  Latin  tongue  to  Car  Earl  of  Somerset:  and  that  Gondomar, 
the  Spanish  ambassador,  would  speak  false  Latin  to  him,  on  purpose  to 
give  him  the  pleasure  of  correcting  it,  whereby  he  wrought  himself  into 
his  good  graces. 

3  In  the  year  1708  there  was  a  meeting  of  the  heads  of  the  Univer- 
sity of  Oxford  to  censure  Mr.  Locke's  Essay  on  Human  Understanding, 
and  to  forbid  the  reading  it. 

4  The  river  Cam,  running  by  the  walls  of  these  colleges,  which  are 
particularly  famous  for  their  skill  in  disputation. 


\ 


THE  DUNCIAD.  453 

Where  Bentley  late  tempestuous  wont  to  sport 
In  troubled  waters,  but  now  sleeps  in  port. 
Before  them  ruarch'd  that  awful  Aristarch  ; 
Plough'd  was  his  front  with  many  a  deep  remark : 
His  hat,  which  never  vail'd  to  human  pride, 
Walker  with  reverence  took,  and  laid  aside. 
Low  bow'd  the  rest :  he,  kingly,  did  but  nod ; 
So  upright  Quakers  please  both  man  and  God. 
Mistress  !  dismiss  that  rabble  from  your  throne : 

Avaunt is  Aristarchus1  yet  unknown  ? 

Thy  mighty  scholiast,  whose  unwearied  pains 

Made  Horace  dull,  and  humbled  Milton's  strains. 

Turn  what  they  will  to  verse,  their  toil  is  vain, 

Critics  like  me  shall  make  it  prose  again. 

Roman  and  Greek  grammarians!  know  your  better; 

Author  of  something  yet  more  great  than  letter; 

While  towering  o'er  your  alphabet,  like  Saul, 

Stands  our  Digamma,  and  o'ertops  them  all. 

'Tis  true,  on  words  is  still  our  whole  debate, 

Disputes  of  me  or  te,  of  aut  or  at, 

To  sound  or  sink  in  cano,  O  or  A, 

Or  give  up  Cicero  to  C  or  K. 

Let  Freind2  affect  to  speak  as  Terence  spoke, 

And  Alsop3  never  but  like  Horace  joke : 

For  me,  what  Virgil,  Pliny  may  deny, 

Manilius  or  Solinus  shall  supply: 

For  Attic  phrase  in  Plato  let  them  seek, 

1  poach  in  Suidas  for  unlicensed  Greek. 
In  ancient  sense  if  any  needs  will  deal, 

Be  sure  I  give  them  fragments,  not  a  meal ; 
What  Gellius  or  Stobaeus4  hash'd  before, 
Or  chew'd  by  blind  old  scholiasts  o'er  and  o'er. 
The  critic  eye,  that  microscope  of  wit, 
Sees  hairs  and  pores,  examines  bit  by  bit : 
How  parts  relate  to  parts,  or  they  to  whole, 
The  body's  harmony,  the  beaming  soul, 

A  famous  commentator,  and  corrector  of  Homer,  whose  name  has 
been  frequently  used  to  signify  a  complete  critic. 

2  Dr.  Robert  Freind,  master  of  Westminster  school,  and  canon  of 
Christ-church. 

a  Dr.  Anthony  Alsop,  a  happy  imitator  of  the  Horatian  style. 

4  Suidas,  Gellius,  Stobteui.  The  first  a  dictionary-  writer,  a  collector  of 
impertinent  facts  and  barbarous  words;  the  second  a  minute  critic;  the 
third  an  author,  who  gave  his  common-place  book  to  the  public,  where 
we  happen  to  find  much  mince-meat  of  old  books. 

40 


454  THE  DUNCTAD. 

Are  things  which  Kuster,  Burman,  Wasse  shall  see, 
When  man's  whole  frame  is  obvious  to  &flea. 

Ah,  think  not,  mistress  !  more  true,  dulness  lies 
In  Folly's  cap,  than  Wisdom's  grave  disguise, 
Like  buoys,  that  never  sink  into  the  flood, 
On  learning's  surface  we  but  lie  and  nod. 
Thine  is  the  genuine  head  of  many  a  house, 
And  much  divinity  without  a  Novr. 
Nor  could  a  BARROW  work  on  every  block, 
Nor  has  one  ATTERBURY'  spoil'd  the  flock. 
See  !  still  thy  own,  the  heavy  canon  roll, 
And  metaphysic  smokes  involve  the  pole. 
For  thee  we  dim  the  eyes,  and  stuff  the  head 
With  all  such  reading  as  was  never  read  : 
For  thee  explain  a  thing  till  all  men  doubt  it, 
And  write  about  it,  goddess,  and  about  it : 
So  spins  the  silk-worm  small  its  slender  store, 
And  labours  till  it  clouds  itself  all  o'er. 

What  though  we  let  some  better  sort  of  fool 
Thrid  every  science,  run  through  every  school  ? 
Never  by  tumbler  through  the  hoops  was  shown 
Such  skill  in  passing  all,  and  touching  none. 
He  may,  indeed  (if  sober  all  this  time), 
Plague  with  dispute,  or  persecute  with  rhyme. 
We  only  furnish  what  he  cannot  use, 
Or  wed  to  what  he  must  divorce,  a  Muse: 
Full  in  the  midst  of  Euclid  dip  at  once, 
And  petrify  a  genius  to  a  dunce : 
Or  set  on  metaphysic  ground  to  prance, 
Show  all  his  paces,  not  a  step  advance. 
With  the  same  cement,  ever  sure  to  bind, 
We  bring  to  one  dead  level  every  mind. 
Then  take  him  to  develope,  if  you  can, 
And  hew  the  block  off,-  and  get  out  the  man. 
But  wherefore  waste  I  words  ?    I  see  advance 
Whore,  pupil,  and  laced  governor  from  France. 

1  Isaac  Barrow,  Master  of  Trinity,  Francis  Atterbury,  Dean  of  Christ- 
church,  both  great  geniuses  and  eloquent  preachers;  one  more  con- 
versant in  the  sublime  geometry,  the  other  in  classical  learning ;  but 
who  equally  made  it  their  care  to  advance  the  polite  arts  in  their  several 
Societies. 

2  A  notion  of  Aristotle,  that  there  was  originally  in  every  block  of 
marble,  a  statue,  which  would  appear  on  the  removal  of  the  superfluous 


TIIE   DUNCIAD.  455 

Walker !-  our  hat — nor  more  he  deign'd  to  say, 
But,  stern  as  Ajax'  spectre,  strode  away. 

In  flow'd  at  once  a  gay  embroider'd  race, 
And  tittering  push'd  the  pedants  off  the  place: 
Some  would  have  spoken,  but  the  voice  wao  drown'd 
By  the  French  horn,  or  by  the  opening  hound. 
The  first  came  forwards,  with  as  easy  mien 
As  if  he  saw  St.  James's  and  the  queen. 
When  thus  the  attendant  orator  begun : 
Receive,  great  empress  !  thy  accomplish'd  son: 
Thine  from  the  birth,  and  sacred  from  the  rod, 
A  dauntless  infant !  never  scared  with  God. 
The  sire  saw,  one  by  one,  his  virtues  wake : 
The  mother  begg'd  the  blessing  of  a  rake. 
Thou  gavest  that  ripeness,  which  so  soon  began, 
And  ceased  so  soon,  he  ne'er  was  boy  nor  man. 
Through  school  and  college,  thy  kind  cloud  o'ercast, 
Safe  and  unseen  the  young  JEneaa  pass'd : 
Thence  bursting  glorious,  all  at  once  let  down, 
Stunn'd  with  his  giddy  'larum  half  the  town. 
Intrepid  then,  o'er  seas  and  lands  he  flew: 
Europe  he  saw,  and  Europe  saw  him  too. 
There  all  thy  gifts  and  graces  we  display, 
Thou,  only  thou,  directing  all  our  way !        . 
To  where  the  Seine,  obsequious  as  she  runs, 
Pours  at  great  Bourbon's  feet  her  silken  sons; 
Or  Tyber,  now  no  longer  Roman,  rolls, 
Vain  of  Italian  arts,  Italian  souls: 
To  happy  convents,  bosom'd  deep  in  vines, 
Where  slumber  abbots,  purple  as  their  wines: 
To  isles  of  fragrance,  lily-silver'd  vales, 
Diffusing  languor  in  the  panting  gales: 
To  lands  of  singing,  or  of  dancing  slaves, 
Love-whispering  woods,  and  lute-resounding  waves. 
But  chief  her  shrine  where  naked  Venus  keeps, 
And  Cupids  ride  the  lion  of  the  deeps ; 
Where,  eased  of  fleets,  the  Adriatic  main 
Wafts  the  smooth  eunuch  and  euamour'd  swain. 
Led  by  my  hand,  he  saunter 'd  Europe  round, 
And  gather'd  every  vice  on  Christian  ground; 
Saw  every  court,  heard  every  king  declare 
His  royal  sense  of  operas  or  the  fair ; 
The  stews  and  palace  equally  explored, 
Intrigued  with  glory,  and  with  spirit  whored; 


456  THE   DUKCIAD. 

Tried  all  hors-cFceuvres,  all  liqueurs  defined, 
*  Judicious  drank,  and  greatly-daring  dined ; 
Dropp'd  the  dull  lumber  of  the  Latin  store, 
Spoil'd  his  own  language,  and  acquired  no  more; 
All  classic  learning  lost  on  classic  ground ; 
And  last  turn'd  air,  the  echo  of  a  sound! 
See  now,  half-cured,  and  perfectly  well-bred, 
With  nothing  but  a  solo  in  his  head ; 
As  much  estate,  and  principle,  and  wit, 
As  Jansen,  Fleetwood,  Cibber'  shall  think  fit} 
Stolen  from  a  duel,  follow'd  by  a  nun, 
And,  if  a  borough  choose  him,  not  undone; 
See,  to  my  country  happy  I  restore 
This  glorious  youth,  and  add  one  Venus  more. 
Her  too  receive  (for  her  my  soul  adores), 
So  may  the  sons  of  sons  of  sons  of  whores, 
Prop  thine,  O  empress !  like  each  neighbour  throne, 
And  make  a  long  posterity  thy  own. 

Pleased  she  accepts  the  hero,  and  the  dame 
Wraps  in  her  veil,  and  frees  from  sense  of  shame. 

Then  look'd,  and  saw  a  lazy,  lolling  sort, 
Unseen  at  church,  at  senate,  or  at  court, 
Of  ever-listless  loiterers,  that  attend 
No  cause,  no  trust,  no  duty,  and  no  friend. 
Thee,  too,  my  Paridel !  she  mark'd  thee  there, 
Stretch'd  on  the  rack  of  a  too  easy  chair, 
And  heard  thy  everlasting  yawn  confess 
The  pains  and  penalties  of  idleness. 
She  pitied  !  but  her  pity  only  shed 
Benigner  influence  on  thy  nodding  head. 

But  Annius,2  crafty  seer,  with  ebon  wand, 
And  well-dissembled  emerald  on  his  hand, 
False  as  his  gems,  and  canker'd  as  his  coins, 
Came,  cramm'd  with  capon,  from  where  Pollio  dines. 
Soft,  as  the  wily  fox  is  seen  to  creep, 
Where  bask  on  sunny  banks  the  simple  sheep, 

1  Three  very  eminent  persons,  all  managers  of  plays :  who,  though 
not  governors  by  profession,  had,  each  in  his  way,  concerned  themselves 
in  the  education  of  youth ;  and  regulated  their  wits,  their  morals,  or  tlieir 
finances,  at  that  period  of  their  age  which  is  the  most  important,  their 
entrance  into  the  polite  world 

'  The  name  taken  from  Annius,  the  monk  of  Viterbo,  famous  for  many 
impositions  and  lorgeries  of  ancient  manuscripts  and  inscriptions,  which 
he  was  prompted  to  by  mere  vanity,  but  our  Annius  had  a  more  sub- 
stantial motive. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  457 

Walk  round  and  round,  now  prying  here,  now  there; 
So  he ;  but  pious  whisper'd  first  his  prayer : 

Grant,  gracious  goddess  !  grant  me  still  to  cheat 
O  may  thy  cloud  still  cover  the  deceit ! 
Thy  choicer  mists  on  this  assembly  shed, 
But  pour  them  thickest  on  the  noble  head. 
So  shall  each  youth,  assisted  by  our  eyes, 
See  other  Caesars,  other  Homers  rise ; 
Through  twilight  ages  hunt  the  Athenian  fowl,1 
Which  Chalcis  gods,  and  mortals  call  an  owl, 
Now  see  an  Attys,  now  a  Cecrops2  cl  nr, 
Nay,  Mahomet !  the  pigeon  at  thine  ear ; 
Be  rich  in  ancient  brass,  though  not  in  g'old, 
And  keep  his  Lares,  though  his  house  be  sold; 
To  headless  Phoebe  his  fair  bride  postpone, 
Honour  a  Syrian  prince  above  his  own; 
Lord  of  an  Otho,  if!  vouch  it  true; 
Bless'd  in  one  Niger,  till  he  knows  of  two. 

Mummius  o'erheard  him ;  Mummius,3  fool-renown'd, 
Who,  like  his  Cheops,4  stinks  above  the  ground, 
Fierce  as  a  startled  adder,  swell'd,  and  said. 
Battling  an  ancient  sistrum  at  his  head: 
Speak'st  thou  of  Syrian  princes  1s  Traitor  base ! 
Mine,  goddess,  mine  is  all  the  horned  race. 

l  The  owl  stamped  on  the  reverse  of  the  ancient  money  of  Athens 

1  The  first  kings  of  Atl.ens,  of  whom  it  is  hard  to  suppose  any  coins 

are  extant;  but  not  so  improbable  as  what  follows,  that  there  should  be 

any  of  Mahomet,  who  forbade  all  images.     Nevertheless,  one  of  these 

nobleman  ****  *  COUDterl'eit  one>  now  in  the  collection  of  a  learned 

»  This  name  is  not  merely  an  allusion  to  the  mummies  he  was  so  fond 
*  1  Probabfr  referred  to  the  ^"nian  general  of  that  name,  who 
burned  Corinth,  and  committed  the  curious  statues  to  the  captain  of  a 
8hip,  assuring  him.  "  that  if  any  were  lost  or  broken,  he  should  procure 
others  to  be  made  in  their  stead:"  by  which  it  should  seem  (whatever 
may  be  pretended)  that  Mummius  was  no  virtuoso. 

<  A  king  of  Egypt,  whose  body  was  certainly  to  be  known,  as  bein«r 

thenneonTr  '"  'W"""1*  m*  to  therefore  m°re  S™™  than  any  of 
the  Cleopatras.     This  royal  mummy,  being  stolen  by  a  wild  Arab  was 

ofUShummiusy  theC°"8Ul  °f  Alexandria'  and  transmitted  to  the  museum 
«  The  strange  story  following,  which  may  be  taken  for  a  fiction  of  the 
Poet,  is  justified  by  a  true  relation  in  Spon's  Voyages.  Vaillant  (who 
wrote  the  history  of  the  Syrian  kings  as  it  is  tote  found  on  me<Ss)! 
coming  from  the  Levant,  where  he  had  been  collecting  various  coins 
and  being  pursued  by  a  corsair  of  Bailee,  swallowed  down  twenty  gold 
medals.  A  sudden  bourasque  freed  him  from  the  rover,  and  he  got  to 


458  THE   DUNCIAD. 

True  he  had  wit,  to  make  their  value  rise ; 
From  foolish  Greeks  to  steal  them  was  as  wise; 
More  glorious  yet,  from  barbarous  hands  to  keep, 
When  Sallee  rovers  chased  him  on  the  deep. 
Then  taught  by  Hermes,  and  divinely  bold, 
Down  his  own  throat  he  risk'd  the  Grecian  gold; 
Received  each  demi-god,  with  pious  care, 
Deep  in  his  entrails — 1  revered  them  there, 
I  bought  them,  shrouded  in  that  living  shrine, 
And,  at  their  second  birth,  they  issue  mine. 

Witness,  great  Ammon ! '  by  whose  horns  I  swore, 
(Replied  soft  Annius)  this  our  paunch  before 
Still  bears  them,  faithful ;  and  that  thus  I  eat, 
Ts  to  refund  the  medals  with  the  meat. 
To  prove  me,  goddess  !  clear  of  all  design, 
Bid  me  with  Pollio  sup,  as  well  as  dine : 
There  all  the  learn'd  shall  at  the  labour  stand, 
And  Douglas2  lend  his  soft,  obstetric  hand. 

The  goddess,  smiling,  seem'd  to  give  consent ; 
So  back  to  Pollio,  hand  in  hand,  they  went. 

Then,  thick  as  locusts  blackening  all  the  ground, 
A  tribe,  with  weeds  and  shells  fantastic  crown'd, 
Each  with  some  wondrous  gift  approach'd  the  power, 
A  nest,  a  toad,  a  fungus,  or  a  flower. 
But  far  the  foremost,  two,  with  earnest  zeal, 
And  aspect  ardent,  to  the  throne  appeal. 

The  first  thus  open'd:  Hear  thy  suppliant's  call, 
Great  queen,  and  common  mother  of  us  all! 
Fair  from  its  humble  bed  I  rear'd  this  flower, 
Suckled,  and  cheer'd,  with  air,  and  sun,  and  shower, 

land  with  them  in  his  belly.  On  his  road  to  Avignon  he  met  two  phy- 
Bicians,  of  whom  he  demanded  assistance.  One  advised  purgations,  the 
other  vomits.  In  this  uncertainty  he  took  neither,  but  pursued  his  way 
to  Lyons,  where  he  found  his  ancient  friend,  the  famous  physician  and 
antiquary,  Dufour,  to  whom  he  related  his  adventure.  Dufour  first 
asked  him  u-hether  the  medals  v-ere  of  the  higher  empire  f  He  assured 
him  they  vere.  Dufour  was  ravished  with  the  hope  of  possessing  such 
a  treasure  ;  he  bargained  with  him  on  the  spot  for  the  most  curious  of 
them,  and  was  to  recover  them  at  his  own  expense. 

1  Jupiter  Ammon  is  called  to  witness,  as  the  father  of  Alexander,  to 
whom  those  kings  succeeded  in  the  division  of  the  Macedonian  empire, 
and  whose  horns  they  wore  on  their  medals . 

2  A  physician  of  great  learning  and  no  less  taste ;  above  all,  curious 
in  what  related  to  Horace,  of  whom  he  collected  every  edition,  transla- 
tion, and  comment,  to  the  number  of  several  hundred  volumes. 


THE   DUXCIAD.  459 

Soft  on  the  paper  ruff  its  leaves  I  spread, 
Bright  with  the  gilded  button  tipp'd  its  head, 
Then  throned  in  glass,  and  named  it  CAROLINE  : 
Each  maid  cried,  charming !  and  each  youth,  divine ! 
Did  Nature's  pencil  ever  blend  such  rays, 
Such  varied  light  in  one  promiscuous  blaze  ? 
Now  prostrate  !  dead !  behold  that  Caroline  : 
No  maid  cries,  charming  !  and  no  youth,  divine ! 
And  lo  the  wretch  !  whose  vile,  whose  insect  lust 
Laid  this  gay  daughter  of  the  spring  in  dust ; 

0  punish  him !  or  to  the  Elysian  shades 
Dismiss  my  soul,  where  no  carnation  fades. 

He  ceas'd,  and  wept.     With  innocence  of  mien, 
The  accused  stood  forth,  and  thus  address'd  the  queen : 

Of  all  the  enamell'd  race,  whose  silvery  wing 
"Waves  to  the  tepid  zephyrs  of  the  spring, 
Or  swims  along  the  fluid  atmosphere, 
Once  brightest  shined  this  child  of  heat  and  air. 

1  saw,  and  started  from  its  vernal  bower 

The  rising  game,  and  chased  from  flower  to  flower. 
It  fled,  1  follow'd ;  now  in  hope,  now  pain ; 
It  stopp'd,  I  stopp'd ;  it  moved,  I  moved  again ; 
At  last  it  fix'd,  'twas  on  what  plant  it  pleased, 
And  where  it  fix'd,  the  beauteous  bird  I  seized : 
Rose  or  carnation  was  below  my  care ; 
I  meddle,  gorldess  !  only  in  my  sphere. 
I  tell  the  naked  fact  without  disguise, 
And,  to  excuse  it,  need  but  show  the  prize ; 
Whose  spoils  this  paper  offers  to  your  eye, 
Fair  even  in  death  !  this  peerless  butterfly. 
•     My  sons  !  (she  answer'd)  both  have  done  your  parts: 
Live  happy  both,  and  long  promote  our  arts. 
But  hear  a  mother,  when  she  recommends 
To  your  fraternal  care  our  sleeping  friends. 
The  common  soul,  of  Heaven's  more  frugal  make, 
Serves  but  to  keep  fools  pert,  and  knaves  awake : 
A  drowsy  watchman,  that  just  gives  a  knock, 
And  breaks  our  rest,  to  tell  us  what's  o'clock. 
Yet  by  some  object  every  brain  is  stirr'd; 
The  dull  may  waken  to  a  humming-bird; 
The  most  recluse,  discreetly  open'd,  find 
Congenial  matter  in  the  c(?ol;le-kind; 
The  mind,  in  metaphysics  at  a  loss, 
May  wander  in  a  wilderness  of  moss 


460  THE   DUNCIAD. 

The  head,  that  turns  at  super-lunar  things, 
Poised  with  a  tail,  may  steer  on  Wilkins'  wings.1 

O  !  would  the  sons  of  men  once  think  their  eyes 
And  reason  given  them  but  to  study  flies ! 
See  Nature  in  some  partial  narrow  shape, 
And  let  the  Author  of  the  whole  escape  : 
Learn  but  to  trifle  ;  or,  who  most  observe, 
To  wonder  at  their  Maker,  not  to  serve. 

Be  that  my  task  (replies  a  gloomy  clerk, 
Sworn  foe  to  mystery,  yet  divinely  dark  ; 
Whose  pious  hope  aspires  to  see  the  day 
"When  moral  evidence  shall  quite  decay, 
And  damns  implicit  faith,  and  holy  lies, 
Prompt  to  impose,  and  fond  to  dogmatize :) 
Let  others  creep  by  timid  steps,  and  slow, 
On  plain  experience  lay  foundations  low, 
By  common  sense  to  common  knowledge  bred, 
And  last,  to  Nature's  cause  through  Nature  led. 
All-seeing  in  thy  mists,  Ave  want  no  guide, 
Mother  of  arrogance,  and  source  of  pride  ! 
We  nobly  take  the  high  priori  road, 
And  reason  downward,  till  we  doubt  of  God: 
Make  Nature  still  encroach  upon  his  plan; 
And  shove  him  off  as  far  as  e'er  we  can : 
Thrust  some  mechanic  cause  into  his  place; 
Or  bind  in  matter,  or  diffuse  in  space. 
Or,  at  one  bound  o'erleaping  all  his  laws, 
Make  God  man's  image,  man  the  final  cauae, 
Find  virtue  local,  all  relation  scorn, 
See  all  in  self,  and  but  for  self  be  born : 
Of  nought  so  certain  as  our  reason  still, 
Of  nought  so  doubtful  as  of  soul  and  will. 

0  hide  the  god  still  more !  and  make  us  see 
Such  as  Lucretius  drew,  a  god  like  thee: 
Wrapp'd  up  in  self,  a  god  without  a  thought, 
Regardless  of  our  merit  or  default. 

Or  that  bright  image  to  our  fancy  draw, 
Which  Theocles  in  raptured  vision  saw, 
While  through  poetic  scenes  the  Genius  roves, 
Or  wanders  wild  in  academic  groves; 

1  John  Wilkins,  bishop  of  Chester,  a  man  of  very  superior  talents,   He 
was  one  of  the  first  projectors  of  the  Royal  Society,  who,  among  many 
enlarged  and  useful  notions,  entertained  the  extravagant  hope  of  a  pos- 
sibility to  fly  to  the  moon  ;  which  has  put  some  volatile  geniuses  upoo 
making  wings  for  that  purpose. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  461 

That  NATURE  our  society  adores, 

Where  Tiudal  dictates,  and  Silenus  snores. 

Eoused  at  his  name,  up  rose  the  bouzy  sire, 
And  shook  from  out  his  pipe  the  seeds  of  fire ; 
Then  snapp'd  his  box,  and  stroked  his  belly  down: 
Rosy  and  reverend,  though  without  a  gown. 
Bland  and  iamiliar  to  the  throne  he  came, 
Led  up  the  youth,  and  call'd  the  goddess  dame. 
Then  thus.     From  priestcraft  happily  set  free, 
Lo!  eveiy  finish'd  son  returns  to  thee: 
First  slave  to  words,  then  vassal  to  a  name, 
Then  dupe  to  party ;  child  and  man  the  same ; 
Bounded  by  nature,  narrow'd  still  by  art, 
A  trifling  head,  and  a  contracted  heart. 
Thus  bred,  thus  taught,  how  many  have  I  seen, 
Smiling  on  all,  and  smiled  on  by  a  queen. 
Mark'd  out  for  honours,  honour'd  for  their  birth, 
To  thee  the  most  rebellious  things  on  earth; 
Now  to  thy  gentle  shadow  all  are  shrunk, 
All  melted  down,  in  pension,  or  in  punk ! 
So  K*,  so  B**  sneak 'd  into  the  grave, 
A  monarch's  half,  and  half  a  harlot's  slave. 
Poor  W**,  nipp'd  in  folly's  broadest  bloom, 
Who  praises  now  1  his  chaplain  on  his  tomb. 
Then  take  them  all,  oh,  take  them  to  thy  breast! 
Thy  Magus,  Goddess  !  shall  perform  the  rest. 

With  that,  a  WIZARD  OLD  his  cup  extends ; 
Which  whoso  tastes  forgets  his  former  friends, 
Sire,  ancestors,  himself.     One  casts  his  eyes 
Up  to  a  star,  and  like  Endymion  dies : 
A.  feather  shooting  from  another's  head, 
Extracts  his  brain,  and  principle  is  fled, 
Lost  is  his  God,  his  country,  everything ; 
And  nothing  left  but  homage  to  a  king ! 
The  vulgar  herd  turn  off  to  roll  with  hogs, 
To  run  with  horses,  or  to  hunt  with  dogs; 
But,  sad  example!  never  to  escape 
Their  infamy,  still  keep  the  human  shape.1 

But  she,  good  goddess,  sent  to  every  child 
Firm  Impudence,  or  Stupefaction  mild; 


1  Th.e  effects  of  the  Magus's  cup  are  just  contrary  to  that  of  Circe. 
Hers  took  away  the  shape,  and  left  the  human  mind :  this  takes  away 
the  mind,  and  leaves  the  human  shape. 


462  THE  DtJNCIAD. 

And  straight  succeeded,  leaving  shame  no  room, 
Cibberian  forehead,  or  Cimmerian  gloom. 

Kind  Self-conceit  to  some  h'er  glass  applies, 
Which  no  one  looks  in  with  another's  eyes: 
But  as  the  flatterer  or  dependant  paint, 
Beholds  himself  a  patriot,  chief,  or  saint. 

On  others  Interest  her  gay  livery  flings, 
Interest,  that  waves  on  party-colour'd  wings: 
Turn'd  to  the  sun,  she  casts  a  thousand  dyes, 
Ana,  as  she  turns,  the  colours  fall  or  rise. 

Others  the  Syren  Sisters  warble  round, 
And  empty  heads  console  with  empty  sound. 
No  more,  alas  !  the  voice  of  Fame  they  hear, 
The  balm  of  dulness  trickling  in  their  ear. 
Great  C**,  H**,  P**,  R**,  K*, 
"Why  all  your  toils  ?  your  sons  have  learn'd  to  sing. 
How  quick  ambition  hastes  to  ridicule  ! 
The  sire  is  made  a  peer,  the  son  a  fool. 

On  some,  a  priest  succinct  in  amice  white 
Attends ;  all  flesh  is  nothing  in  his  sight ! 
Beeves,  at  his  touch,  at  once  to  jelly  turn, 
And  the  huge  boar  is  shrunk  into  an  urn: 
The  board  with  specious  miracles  he  loads, 
Turns  hares  to  larks,  and  pigeons  into  toada. 
Another  (for  in  all  what  one  can  shine) 
Explains  the  seve  and  verdeur1  of  the  vine. 
What  cannot  copious  sacrifice  atone  ] 
Thy  truffles,  Perigord  !  thy  hams,  Bayonne ! 
With  French  libation,  and  Italian  straiu, 
Wash  Bladen  white,  and  expiate  Hays's2  stain. 
Knight  lifts  the  head,  for  what  are  crowds  undone 
To  three  essential  partridges  in  one  ? 
Gone  every  blush,  and  silent  all  reproach, 
Contending  princes  mount  them  in  their  coach. 

Next  bidding  all  draw  near  on  bended  knees, 
The  queen  confers  her  titles  and  degrees. 

1  French  terms  relating  to  wines.     St.  Evremont  has  a  very  pathetic 
letter  to  a  nobleman  in  disgrace,  advising  him  to  seek  comfort  in  a  good 
table,  and  particularly  to  be  attentive  to  these  qualities  in  his  champagne. 

2  Bladf.n — Hays — Names  of  gamesters.     Bladen  was  a  black  man. 
Robert   Knight,  cashier  of  the   South  Sea  Company,  who  fled  from 
England  in  1720,  (afterwards  pardoned  in  1742.) — These  lived  with  the 
utmost  magnificence  at  Paris,  and  kept   open   tables  frequented  by 
persons  of  the  first  quality    of  England,  and  even  by  princes  of  the 
blood  of  France. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  463 

Her  children  first;  of  more  distinguish'd  sort, 

Who  study  Shakspere  at  the  inns  of  court, 

Impale  a  glow-worm,  or  vertu  profess, 

Shine  in  the  dignity  of  F.R.S. 

Some,  deep  Freemasons,  join  the  silent  race, 

Worthy  to  fill  Pythngoras's  place: 

Some  botanists,  or  florists  at  the  least, 

Or  issue  members  of  an  annual  feast. 

Nor  pass'd  the  meanest  unregarded,  one  — 

Rose  a  Gregorian,  one  a  Gormogon.1 

The  last,  not  least  in  honour  or  applause, 

Isis  and  Cam  made  doctors  of  her  laws. 

Then  blessing  all,  Go,  children  of  my  care ! 
To  practice  now  from  theory  repair. 
All  my  commands  are  easy,  short,  and  full: 
My  sons  !  be  proud,  be  selfish,  and  be  dull. 
Guard  my  prerogative,  assert  my  throne : 
This  nod  confirms  each  privilege  your  own. 
The  cap  and  switch  be  sacred  to  his  Grace ; 
With  staff  and  pumps  the  marquis  leads  the  race  $ 
From  stage  to  stage  the  licensed  earl  may  run, 
Pair'd  with  his  fellow-charioteer,  the  sun ; 
The  learned  baron  butterflies  design, 
Or  draw  to  silk  Arachne's  subtile  line; 

The  senator  at  cricket  urge  the  ball ; 
The  bishop  stow  (pontific  luxury !) 
An  hundred  souls  of  turkeys  in  a  pie ; 
The  sturdy  'squire  to  Gallic  masters  stoop, 
And  drown  his  lands  and  manors  in  a  soup. 
Others  import  yet  nobler  arts  from  France, 
Teach  kings  to  fiddle,  and  make  senates  danco. 
Perhaps  more  high  some  daring  son  may  soar, 
Proud  to  my  list  to  add  one  monarch  more ; 
And,  nobly  conscious  princes  are  but  things 
Born  for  first  ministers,  as  slaves  for  kings, 
Tyrant  supreme !  shall  three  estates  command, 

Ajld  MAKE   ONE  MIGHTY  DUNCIAD   OF   THE   LAND  ! 

More  she  had  spoke,  but  yawn'd — all  nature  nods  I 
What  mortal  can  resist  the  yawn  of  gods  ? 
Churches  and  chapels  instantly  it  reach'd ; 
(St.  James's  first,  for  leaden  Gilbert-  preach'd) 

1  Societies  then  in  existence  said  to  have  been  tlipt  from  the  root  of 
the  freemasonry. 

*  Gilbert  Burnet,  bishop  of  Salisbury. 


464  THE   DUNCIAD. 

Then  catch'd  the  schools;  the  hall  scarce  kept  awake; 

The  convocation  gaped,  but  could  not  speak : 

Lost  was  the  nation's  sense,  nor  could  be  found, 

While  the  long  solemn  unison  went  round : 

Wide,  and  more  wide,  it  spread  o'er  all  the  realm 

Even  Palinurus  nodded  at  the  helm : 

The  vapour  mild  o'er  each  committee  crept; 

Unfinish'd  treaties  in  each  office  slept ; 

And  chiefless  armies  dozed  out  the  campaign; 

AM  navies  yawn'd  for  orders  on  the  main. 

O  Muse  !  relate  (for  you  can  tell  alone, 
Wits  have  short  memories,  and  dunces  none) 
Eelate  who  first,  who  last  resign'd  to  rest ; 
Whose  heads  she  partly,  whose  completely  blest ; 
What  charms  could  faction,  what  ambition  lull, 
The  venal  quiet,  and  entrance  the  dull  j  [wrong,-— 

'Till  drown'd  was  sense,  and  shame,  and  right,  and 
O  sing,  and  hush  the  nations  with  thy  song ! 
****** 

In  vain,  in  vain — the  all-composing  hour 
Resistless  falls:  the  Muse  obeys  the  power. 
She  comes  !  she  comes  !  the  sable  throne  behold 
Of  Night  primeval,  and  of  Chaos  old ! 
Before  her,  Fancy's  gilded  clouds  decay, 
And  all  its  varying  rainbows  die  away. 
Wit  shoots  in  vain  its  momentary  fires, 
The  meteor  drops,  and  in  a  flash  expires. 
As  one  by  one,  at  dread  Medea's  strain, 
The  sickening  stars  fade  off  the  ethereal  plain; 
As  Argus'  eyes  by  Hermes'  wand  oppress'd, 
Closed  one  by  one  to  everlasting  rest ; 
Thus  at  her  felt  approach,  and  secret  might, 
Art  after  art  goes  out,  and  all  is  night. 
See  skulking  Truth  to  her  old  cavern  fled, 
Mountains  of  casuistry  heap'd  o'er  her  head  ( 
Philosophy,  that  lean'd  on  Heayen  before, 
Shrinks  to  her  second  cause,  and  is  no  more. 
Physic  of  Metaphysic  begs  defence, 
And  Metaphysic  calls  for  aid  on  Sense! 
See  Mystery  to  Mathematics  fly ! 
In  vain !  they  gaze,  turn  giddy,  rave,  and  die* 
Religion,  blushing,  veils  her  sacred  fires, 
And  unawares  Morality  expires. 


THE  DUNCIAD.  465 


Nor 

Nor 


Lp  !  thy  d 

Light  dies  before  thy  uncrcating  word: 

Thy  hand,  great  anarch  !  lets  the  curtain  iallj 

And  universal  darkness  buries  all. 


APPENDIX. 


i. 

PKEFACE. 

PHEFtXED  TO  THE  FIVE  FIRST  IMPERFECT  EDITIONS  OF  THE  DTTNCIAD, 
IN  THREE  BOOKS,  PRINTED  AT  DUBLIN  AND  LONDON,  IN  OCTAVO 
AND  DUODECIMO,  1727. 


THE  PUBLISHER1  TO  THE  BEADEB. 

IT  will  be  found  a  true  observation,  though  somewhat 
surprising,  that  when  any  scandal  is  vented  against  a  man 
of  the  highest  distinction  and  character,  either  in  the  state 
or  in  literature,  the  public  in  general  afford  it  a  most  quiet 
reception ;  and  the  larger  part  accept  it  as  favourably  as  if 
it  were  some  kindness  done  to  themselves:  whereas  if  a 
known  scoundrel  or  blockhead  but  chance  to  be  touched 
upon,  a  whole  legion  is  up  in  arms,  and  it  becomes  the 
common  cause  of  all  scribblers,  booksellers,  and  printers 
whatsoever. 

Not  to  search  too  deeply  into  the  reason  hereof,  I  will 
only  observe  as  a  fact,  that  every  week  for  these  two 
months  past,  the  town  has  been  persecuted  with  pamphlets, 

1  Who  he  was  is  uncertain ;  but  Edward  Ward  tells  us,  in  his  preface 
to  Durgen,  "  that  most  judges  are  of  opinion  this  preface  is  not  of 
English  extraction,  but  Hibernian,"  &c.  He  means  it  was  written  by 
Dr.  Swift,  who,  whether  publisher  or  not,  may  be  said  in  a  sort  to  be 
author  of  the  poem  :  for  when  he,  together  with  Mr.  Pope,  (for  reasons 
specified  in  the  preface  to  their  Miscellanies),  determined  to  own  the 
most  trifling  pieces  in  which  they  had  any  hand,  and  to  destroy  all  that 
remained  in  their  power,  the  first  sketch  of  this  poem  was  snatched 
from  the  fire  by  Dr.  Swift,  who  persuaded  liis  friend  to  proceed  in  it, 
41 


466  THE   DUNCIAD. 

advertisements,  letters,  and  weekly  essays,  not  only  against 
the  wit  and  writings,  but  against  the  character  and  person, 
of  Mr.  Pope.  And  that  of  all  those  men  who  have  received 
pleasure  from  his  works,  which  by  modest  computation 
may  be  about  a  hundred  thousand  in  these  kingdoms  of 
England  and  Ireland  (not  to  mention  Jersey,  Guernsey, 
the  Orcades,  those  in  the  new  world,  and  foreigners  who 
have  translated  him  into  their  languages) ;  of  all  this 
number  not  a  man  hath  stood  up  to  say  one  word  in  his 
defence. 

The  only  exception  is  the  author  of  the  following  poem, 
who  doubtless  had  either  a  better  insight  into  the  grounds 
of  this  clamour,  or  a  better  opinion  of  Mr.  Pope's  integrity, 
joined  with  a  greater  personal  love  for  him,  than  any  other 
of  his  numerous  friends  and  admirers. 

Farther,  that  he  was  in  his  peculiar  intimacy,  appears 
from  the  knowledge  he  manifests  of  the  most  private 
authors  of  all  the  anonymous  pieces  against  him,  and  from 
his  having  in  this  poem  attacked  no  man  living,  who  had 
not  before  printed,  or  published,  some  scandal  against  this 
gentleman.  

and  to  him  it  was  therefore  inscribed.  But  the  occasion  of  printing  it 
was  as  follows. 

There  was  published  in  those  miscellanies,  a  Treatise  of  the  Bathos, 
or  Art  of  Sinking  in  Poetry,  in  which  was  a  chapter,  where  the  species 
of  bad  writers  were  ranged  in  classes,  and  initial  letters  of  names  pre- 
fixed, for  the  most  part  at  random.  But  such  was  the  number  of  poets 
eminent  in  that  art,  that  some  one  or  other  took  every  letter  to  himself. 
All  fell  into  so  violent  a  fury,  that  for  half  a  year,  or  more,  the  common 
newspapers  (in  most  of  which  they  had  some  property,  as  being  hired 
writers)  were  filled  with  the  most  abusive  falsehoods  and  scurrilities 
they  could  possibly  devise :  a  liberty  noways  to  be  wondered  at  in 
those  people,  and  in  those  papers,  that  for  many  years,  during  the  un- 
controlled licence  of  the  press,  had  aspersed  almost  all  the  great 
characters  of  the  age ;  and  this  with  impunity,  their  own  persons  and 
names  being  utterly  secret  and  obscure.  This  gave  Mr.  Pope  the  thought, 
that  he  had  now  some  opportunity  of  doing  good,  by  detecting  and 
dragging  into  light  these  common  enemies  of  mankind ;  since  to  in- 
validate this  universal  slander,  it  sufficed  to  show  what  contemptible  men 
were  the  authors  of  it.  He  was  not  without  hopes,  that  by  manifesting 
the  dulness  of  those  who  had  only  malice  to  recommend  them,  either 
the  booksellers  would  not  find  their  account  in  employing  them,  or  the 
men  themselves,  when  discovered,  want  courage  to  proceed  in  so  unlaw- 
ful an  occupation.  This  it  was  that  gave  birth  to  the  Dunciad  :  and  he 
thought  it  a  happiness,  that  by  the  late  flood  of  slander  on  himself,  he 
had  acquired  such  a  peculiar  right  over  their  names  as  was  necessary  to 
his  design. 


THE   DUNCIAD.  467 

How  I  came  possessed  of  it,  is  no  concern  to  the  reader; 
but  it  would  have  been  a  wrong  to  him  had  I  detained  the 
publication ;  since  those  names  which  are  its  chief  ornaments 
die  off  daily  so  fast,  as  must  render  it  too  soon  unintelligible. 
If  it  provoke  the  author  to  give  us  a  more  perfect  edition,  I 
have  my  end. 

Who  he  is  I  cannot  say,  and  (which  is  great  pity)  there 
is  certainly  nothing  in  his  style  and  manner  of  writing 
which  can  distinguish  or  discover  him :  for  if  it  bears  any 
resemblance  to  that  of  Mr.  Pope,  'tis  not  improbable  but 
it  might  be  done  on  purpose,  with  a  view  to  have  it  pass 
for  his.  But  by  the  frequency  of  his  allusions  to  Virgil, 
and  a  laboured  (not  to  say  affected)  shortness  in  imitation  of' 
him,  I  should  think  him  more  an  admirer  of  the  Roman  poet 
than  of  the  Grecian,  and  in  that  not  of  the  same  taste  with 
his  friend. 

I  have  been  well  informed,  that  this  work  was  the  labour 
of  full  six  years  of  his  life,  and  that  he  wholly  retired  himself 
from  all  the  avocations  and  pleasures  of  the  world,  to  attend 
diligently  to  its  correction  and  perfection;  and  six  years 
more  he  intended  to  bestow  upon  it,  as  it  should  seem 
by  this  verse  of  Statius  which  was  cited  at  the  head  of  his 
manuscript, 

Ok  mi  At  biitenot  muUum  vigilataper  anno*, 
Duncin! 

Hence  also  we  learn  the  true  title  of  the  poem ;  which, 
with  the  same  certainty  as  we  call  that  of  Homer  the  Iliad, 
of  Virgil  the  JEneid,  of  Camoeus  the  Lusiad,  we  may  pro- 
nounce could  have  been,  and  can  be,  no  other  than  the 
DUNCIAD. 

It  is  styled  heroic,  as  being  doubly  so;  not  only  with 
respect  to  its  nature,  which,  according  to  the  best  rules  of  the 
ancients,  and  strictest  ideas  of  the  moderns,  is  critically  such; 
but  also  with  regard  to  the  heroical  disposition  and  high 
courage  of  the  writer,  who  dared  to  stir  up  such  a  formidable, 
irritable,  and  implacable  race  of  mortals. 

There  may  arise  some  obscurity  in  chronology  from  the 
names  in  the  poem,  by  the  inevitable  removal  of  some 
authors,  and  insertion  of  others,  in  their  niches.  For  who- 
ever will  consider  the  unity  of  the  whole  design,  will  be 
sensible,  that  the  poem  was  not  made  for  these  authors,  but 
these  authors  for  the  poem.  I  should  judge  that  they  were 
clapped  in  as  they  rose,  fresh  and  fresh,  and  changed  from 


468  THE   DUNCIAD. 

day  to  day ;  in  like  manner  as  when  the  old  boughs  wither, 
we  thrust  new  ones  into  a  chimney. 

I  would  not  have  the  reader  too  much  troubled  or  anxious, 
if  he  cannot  decipher  them ;  since,  when  he  shall  have  found 
them  out,  he  will  probably  know  no  more  of  the  persons  than 
before. 

Yet  we  .judged  it  better  to  preserve  them  as  they  are,  than 
to  change  them  for  fictitious  names ;  by  which  the  satire 
would  only  be  multiplied,  and  applied  to  many  instead  of  one. 
Had  the  hero,  for  instance,  been  called  Codrus,  how  many 
would  have  affirmed  him  to  have  been  Mr.  T.,  Mr.  E., 
Sir  R.  B.,  &c.,  but  now  all  that  unjust  scandal  is  saved  by 
calling  him  by  a  name,  which  by  good  luck  happens  to  be  that 
of  a  real  person. 


II. 
A  LIST  OF  BOOKS,  PAPERS,  AND  VERSES, 

IN  WHICH  OUR   AUTHOR  WAS   ABUSED,    BEFORE    THE  PUBLICATION  OP 
THE  DUNCIAD  ;  WITH  THE  TRUE   NAMES   OF  THE  AUTHORS. 

REFLECTIONS  critical  and  satirical  on  a  late  Rhapsody, 
called  An  Essay  on  Criticism.  By  Mr.  Dennis,  printed  by 
B.  Lintot,  price  6d. 

A  New  Rehearsal,  or  Bays  the  younjer;  containing  an 
Examen  of  Mr.  Row's  plays,  and  a  word  or  two  on  Mr. 
Pope's  Rape  of  the  Lock.  Anon,  [by  Charles  Gildon]  printed 
for  J.  Roberts,  1714,  price  Is. 

Homerides,  or  a  Letter  to  Mr.  Pope,  occasioned  by  his 
intended  translation  of  Homer.  By  Sir  Iliad  Dogrel.  rr™ 


Burnet  and  G.  Ducket  esquires]  printed  for  W.  Willu 


a  by  ms 
•1.  [Tho. 
ins,  1715, 


Jilsop  at  the  Betir  Garden ;  a  vision,  in  imitation  of  the 
Temple  of  Fame.  By  Mr.  Preston.  Sold  by  John  Morphew, 
1715,  price  6d. 

The  Catholic  Poet,  or  Protestant  Barnaby's  Sorrowful 
Lamentation;  a  Ballad  about  Homer's  Iliad.  By  Mrs.  Cent- 
livre,  and  others,  1715,  price  Id. 

An  Epilogiie  to  a  Puppet-show  at  Bath,  concerning  the 
said  Iliad.  By  George  Ducket,  Esq.,  printed  by  E.  Curl. 

A  complete  Key  to  the  What  d'ye  call  it.  Anon,  [by 

Griffin,  a  player,  supervised  by  Mr.  Th ]  printed  by  J. 

Roberts,  1715. 


THE   DUNC1AD.  4G9 

A  true  character  of  Mr.  P.  and  his  writings,  in  a  letter 
to  a  friend.  Anon.  [Dennis]  printed  for  S.  Popping,  1716, 
price  3f/. 

The  Confederates,  a  Farce.  By  Joseph  Gay  [J.  D.  Breval] 
printed  for  R.  Burleigh,  1717,  price  Is. 

Remarks  upon  Mr.  Pope's  translation  of  Homer;  with 
two  letters  concerning  the  Windsor  -Forest,  and  the  Temple 
of  Fame.  By  Mr.  Dennis,  printed  for  E.  Curl,  1717,  price 
Is.  6d. 

Satyrs  on  the  translators  of  Homer,  Mr.  P.  and  Mr.  T. 
Anon.  [Bez.  Morris]  1717,  price  6rf. 

The  Triumvirate ;  or,  a  Letter  from  Palaemon  to  Celia  at 
Bath.  Anon.  [Leonard  Welsted]  1711,  folio,  price  1*. 

The  Battle  of  Poets,  an  heroic  poem.  By  Tho.  Cooke, 
printed  for  J.  Roberts,  folio,  1725. 

Memoirs  of  Lilliput.  Anon.  [Eliza  Haywood]  octavo, 
printed  in  1727. 

An  Essay  on  Criticism,  in  prose.  By  the  Author  of  the 
Critical  History  of  England  [J.  Oldmixon]  octavo,  printed 
1728. 

Gulliveriana  and  Alexandriana ;  with  an  ample  preface 
and  critique  on  Swill  and  Pope's  Miscellanies.  By  Jonathan 
Sinedley,  printed  by  J.  Roberts,  octavo,  1728. 

Characters  of  the  Times ;  or,  an  account  of  the  writings, 

characters,  &c.,  of  several  gentlemen  libelled  by  S and 

P ,  in  a  late  Miscellany.  Octavo,  1728. 

Remarks  on  Mr.  Pope's  Rape  of  the  Lock,  in  letters  to  a 
friend.  By  Mr.  Dennis;  written  in  1724,  though  not  printed 
till  1728,  octavo. 


VEESE8,  LETTERS,   ESSAYS,   OE   ADVERTISEMENTS,  IN   THE 
PUBLIC  PKINTS. 

British  Journal,  Nov.  25,  1727.  A  Letter  on  Swift  and 
Pope's  Miscellanies.  [Writ  by  M.  Concanen.] 

Daily  Journal,  March  18,  1728.  A  Letter  by  PhilomaurL 
James-Moore  Smith. 

Id,  March  29.  A  Letter  about  Thersites;  accusing  the 
author  of  disaffection  to  the  Government.  By  James-Moore 
Smith. 

Mist's  Weekly  Journal,  March  30.  An  Essay  on  the 
Arts  of  a  Poet  sinking  in  reputation;  or,  a  Supplement 
41* 


470  THE   DUNCIAD. 

to    the  Art  of    Sinking  in    Poetry.      [Supposed    by  Mr. 
Theobald.] 

Daily  Journal,  April  3.  A  Letter  under  the  name  of  Phi- 
loditto.  By  James-Moore  Smith. 

Flying  Post,  April  4.  A  Letter  against  Gulliver  and  Mr. 
P.  [by  Mr.  Oldmixon.] 

Daily  Journal,  April  .5.  An  Auction  of  Goods  at  Twicken- 
ham. By  James-Moore  Smith. 

The  Flying  Post,  April  6.  A  Fragment  of  a  Treatise  upon 
Swift  and  Pope.  By  Mr.  Oldmixon. 

The  Senator,  April  9.  On  the  same.  By  Edward 
Roome. 

Daily  Journal,  April  8.  Advertisement  by  James-Moore 
Smith. 

Flying  Post,  April  13.  Verses  against  Dr.  Smith,  and 
against  M.  P — 's  Homer,  By  J.  Oldmixon. 

Daily  Journal,  April  23.  Letter  about  the  translation 
of  the  character  of  Thersites  in  Homer.  By  Thomas 
Cooke,  &c. 

Mist's  Weekly  Journal,  April  27.  A  Letter  of  Lewis 
Theobald. 

Daily  Journal,  May  11.  A  Letter  against  Mr.  P.  at  large. 
Anon.  [John  Dennis.] 

All  these  were  afterwards  reprinted  in  a  pamphlet, 
entitled  A  Collection  of  all  the  Verses,  Essays,  Letters, 
and  Advertisements,  occasioned  by  Mr.  Pope  and  Swift's 
Miscellanies,  prefaced  by  Concanen,  Anonymous,  octavo, 
and  printed  for  A.  Moore,  1728,  price  Is.  Others  of  an 
elder  date,  having  lain  as  waste  paper  many  years,  were, 
upon  the  publication  of  the  Dunciad,  brought  out,  and 
their  authors  betrayed  by  the  mercenary  booksellers  (in 
hope  of  some  possibility  of  vending  a  few)  by  advertising 
them  in  this  manner — "  The  Confederates,  a  farce.  Bjt 
Captain  Breval  (for  which  he  was  put  into  the  Dunciad). 
An  Epilogue  to  Powel's  Puppet-show.  By  Col.  Ducket 
(for  which  he  is  put  into  the  Dunciad).  Essays,  <fec.  By 
Sir  Richard  Blackmore.  (N.B.  It  was  for  a  passage  of 
this  book  that  Sir  Richard  was  put  into  the  Dunciad)."  And 
so  of  others.  

AFTEB   THE   DUNCIAD,   1728. 

An  Essay  on  the  Dunciad.  Octavo,  printed  for  J. 
Roberts.  [In  this  book,  p.  9,  it  was  formally  declared, 
"  That  the  complaint  of  the  aforesaid  libels  and  advertise* 


THE  DTJNCIAD.  471 

ments  was  forged  and  untrue;  that  all  mouths  had  been 
silent,  except  in  Mr.  Pope's  praise;  and  nothing  against  him 
published,  but  by  Mr.  Theobald."] 

Sawney,  in  blank  verse,  occasioned  by  the  Dunciad: 
with  n  Critique  on  that  poem.  By  J.  Ralph  [a  person  never 
mentioned  in  it  at  first,  but  inserted  alter],  printed  for 
J.  Roberts,  octavo. 

A  complete  Key  to  the  Dunciad.  By  E.  Curl,  12mo, 
price  6d. 

A  second  and  third  edition  of  the  same,  with  additions, 
12mo. 

The  Popiad.  By  E.  Curl,  extracted  from  J.  Dennis,  Sir 
Bichard  Blackmore,  &c.  12mo,  price  6d.' 

The  Curliad.     By  the  same  E.  Curl. 

The  Female  Dunciad.  Collected  by  the  same  Mr.  Curl, 
12mo,  price  6d.  With  the  Metamorphosis  of  P.  into  a 
stinging  nettle.  By  Mr.  Foxton,  12mo. 

The  Metamorphosis  of  Scriblerus  into  Snarlerus.  By.  J. 
Smedley,  printed  for  A.  Moore,  folio,  price  6d. 

The  Dunciad  Dissected.  By  Curl  and  Mrs.  Thomas, 
12mo. 

An  Essay  on  the  Taste  and  Writings  of  the  present  times. 
Said  to  be  writ  by  a  gentleman  of  C.  C.  C.  Oxon,  printed  for 
J.  Roberts,  octavo. 

The  Arts  of  Logic  and  Rhetoric,  partly  taken  from 
Bouhours,  with  new  reflections,  &c.  By  John  Oldmkon, 
octavo. 

Remarks  on  the  Dunciad.  By  Mr.  Dennis,  dedicated  to 
Theobald,  octavo. 

A  Supplement  to  the  Profund.  Anon,  [by  Matthew  Con- 
canen],  octavo. 

Mist's  Weekly  JovTrnal,  June  8.  A  long  Letter,  signed 
W.  A.  Writ  by  some  or  other  of  the  club  of  Theobald, 
Dennis,  Moore,  Concanen,  Cooke,  \yho  for  some  time  held 
constant  weekly  meetings  for  these  kind  of  performances. 

Daily  Journal,  June  11.  A  Letter,  signed  Philoscriblerus, 
on  the  name  of  Pope. — Letter  to  Mr.  Theobald,  in  verse, 
signed  B.  M.  (Bezaleel  Morris)  against  Mr.  P. — Many  other 
little  epigrams  about  this  time  in  the  same  papers,  by  James 
Moore,  and  others. 

Mist's  Journal,  June  22.     A  Letter  by  Lewis  Theobald. 

Flying  Post,  August  8.     Letter  on  Pope  and  Swill. 

Da'ily  Journal,  August  8.  Letter  charging  the  Author 
of  the  Dunciad  with  Treason. 


472  THE   DUNCIAD. 

Durgen;  a  plain  satyr  on  a  pompous  satyrist.  By  Edward 
Ward,  with  a  little  of  James  Moore. 

Apollo's  Maggot  in  his  cups.     By  E.  Ward. 

Gulliveriana  secunda.  Being  a  collection  of  many  of 
the  Libels  in  the  Newspapers,  like  the  former  volume, 
under  the  same  title,  by  Smedley.  Advertised  in  the 
Craftsman,  Nov.  9,  1728,  with  this  remarkable  promise, 
that  "  any  thing  which  any  body  should  send  as  Mr. 
Pope's  or  Dr.  Swift's,  should  be  inserted  and  published  as 
theirs." 

Pope  Alexander's  supremacy  and  infallibility  examined,  &c. 
By  George  Ducket  and  John  Dennis,  quarto. 

Dean  Jonathan's  paraphrase  on  the  4th  chapter  of  Genesis. 
Writ  by  E.  Roome,  folio,  1729. 

Labeo.  A  paper  of  verses  by  Leonard  Welsted,  which  after 
came  into  one  epistle,  and  was  published  by  James  Moore, 
quarto,  1730.  Another  part  of  it  came  out  in  Welsted's 
own  name,  under  the  just  title  of  Dulness  and  Scandal, 
folio,  1731. 

Tfiere  have  been  since  published : 

Verses  on  the  Imitator  of  Horace.  By  a  Lady  (or  between 
a  Lady,  a  Lord,  and  a  Court-'squire.)  Printed  for  J.  Roberts, 
folio. 

An  Epistle  from  a  Nobleman  to  a  Doctor  of  Divinity,  from 

Hampton-court  (Lord  H y).  Printed  for  J.  Eoberts  also, 

folio. 

A  Letter  from  Mr.  Gibber  to  Mr.  Pope.  Printed  for  W. 
Lewis  in,  Covent-garden,  octavo. 


in. 

ADVERTISEMENT  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION, 

WITH  NOTES,  IN  QUARTO,  1729. 

IT  will  be  sufficient  to  say  of  this  edition,  that  the  reader 
has  here  a  much  more  correct  and  complete  copy  of  the 
DUNCIAD,  than  has  hitherto  appeared.  I  cannot  answer 
but  some  mistakes  may  have  slipt  into  it,  but  a  vast  number 
of  others  will  be  prevented  by  the  names  being  now  not  only 
set  at  length,  but  justified  by  the  authorities  and  reasons 


-    THE   DUXCIAD.  473 

* 

given.  I  make  no  doubt,  the  author's  own  motive  to  use 
real  rather  than  feigned  names,  was  his  care  to  preserve  the 
innocent  from  any  false  application ;  whereas,  in  the  former 
editions,  which  had  no  more  than  the  initial  letters,  he  was 
made,  by  keys  printed  here,  to  hurt  the  inoffensive;  and 
(what  was  worse)  to  abuse  his  friends,  by  an  impression  at 
Dublin. 

The  commentary  which  attends  this  poem  was  sent  me 
from  several  hands,  and  consequently  must  be  unequally 
written;  yet  will  have  one  advantage  over  most  commen- 
taries, that  it  is  not  made  upon  conjectures,  or  at  a  remote 
distance  of  time:  and  the  reader  cannot  but  derive  one  pleasure 
from  the  very  obscurity  of  the  persons  it*  treats  of,  that  it 
partakes  of  1  lie  nature  of  a  secret,  which  most  people  love  to 
be  let  into,  though  the  men  or  the  things  be  ever  so  incon- 
sulerable  or  trivial. 

Of  the  persons  it  was  judged  proper  to  give  some 
account:  for  since  it  is  only  4n  this  monument  that  they 
must  expect  to  survive  (and  here  jjwrvive  they  will,  as  long 
as  the  English  tongue  shall  remain  such  as  it  was  in 
the  reigns  of  queen  ANNE  an'd  king  GEOBGE),  it  seemed 
but  humanity  to  bestow  a  word  or  two  upon  each,  just  to 
tell  what  he  was,  what  he  writ,  when  he  lived,  and  when  he 
died. 

If  a  word  or  two  more  are  added  upon  the  chief  offenders, 
it  is  only  as  a  paper  pinned  upon  the  breast,  to  mark  the 
enormities  for  which  they  suffered;  lest  the  correction  only 
should  be  remembered,  and  the  crime  forgotten. 

In  some  articles  it  was  thought  sufficient,  barely  to  tran- 
scribe from  Jacob,  Curl,  and  other  writers  of  their  own  rank, 
who  were  much  better  acquainted  with  them  than  any  of  the 
authors  of  this  comment  can  pretend  to  be.  Most  of  them 
had  drawn  each  other's  characters  on  certain  occasions;  but 
the  few  here  inserted  are  all  that  could  be  saved  from  the 
general  destruction  of  such  works. 

Of  the  part  of  Scriblerus  I  need  say  nothing;  his  manner 
is  well  enough  known,  and  approved  by  all  but  those  who  are 
too  much  concerned  to  be  judges. 

The  imitations  of  the  ancients  are  added  to  gratify  those 
who  either  never  read,  or  may  have  forgotten  them;  together 
with  some  of  the  parodies  and  allusions  to  the  most  excellent 
of  the  moderns.  If,  from  the  frequency  of  the  former,  any 
man  think  the  poem  too  much  a  cento,  our  poet  will  but 
appear  to  have  done  the  same  thing  in  jest  which  Boileau 


474  THE  DUNCIAD. 

did  in  earnest ;  and  upon  which  Yida  Fracastorius,  and  many 
of  the  most  eminent  Latin  poets,  professedly  valued  them- 
selves. 


IV. 

ADVERTISEMENT    TO    THE    FIRST    EDITION, 

SEPARATE,  CF  THE  TOUKTH  BOOK  OF  THE  DUNCIAD. 

WE  apprehend  it  can  be  deemed  no  injury  to  the  author  of 
the  three  first  books  of  the  Dunciad,  that  we  publish  this 
fourth.  It  was  found  merely  by  accident,  in  taking  a  survey 
of  the  library  of  a  late  eminent  nobleman ;  but  in  so  blotted 
a  condition,  and  in  so  many  detached  pieces,  as  plainly  showed 
it  to  be  not  only  incorrect  but  unfinished.  That  the  author 
of  the  three  first  books  had  a  design  to  extend  and  complete 
his  poem  in  this  manner,  appears  from  the  dissertation  pre- 
fixed to  it,  where  it  is  said,  that  the  design  is  more  extensive, 
and  that  we  may  expect  other  episodes  to  complete  it:  and 
from  the  declaration  in  the  argument  to  the  third  book,  that 
the  accomplishment  of  the  prophecies  therein,  would  be  the 
theme  hereafter  of  a  greater  Dunciad.  But  whether  or  no 
he  be  the  author  of  this,  we  declare  ourselves  ignorant.  If  he 
be,  we  are  no  more  to  be  blamed  for  the  publication  of  it,  than 
Tucca  and  Varius  for  that  of  the  last  six  books  of  the  J^neid, 
though  perhaps  inferior  to  the  former. 

If  any  person  be  possessed  of  a  more  perfect  copy  of  this 
work,  or  of  any  other  fragments  of  it,  and  will  communicate 
them  to  the  publisher,  we  shall  make  the  next  edition  more 
complete :  in  which,  we  also  promise  to  insert  any  criticisms 
that  shall  be  published  (if  at  all  to  the  purpose)  with  the  names 
of  the  authors;  or  any  letters  sent  us  (though  not  to  the 
purpose)  shall  yet  be  printed  under  the  title  of  Epistolce 
Obscurorum  Virorum;  which,  together  with  some  others  of 
the  same  kind  formerly  laid  by  for  that  end,  may  make  no 
unpleasant  addition  to  the  future  impressions  of  this  poem. 


THE   DUNCIAD.  475 


THE  GUARDIAN. 

A  CONTINUATION   OF  SOME   FORMER  PAPERS  ON  THE   SUBJECT 
OF   PASTORALS. 

Monday,  April  27, 1713. 

Computer  antque  greget  Corydon  ei  Tkyrtit  i*  unum.— 
Ex  illo  Corydon,  Corydon  eit  tempore  nobii. 

I  DESIGNED  to  have  troubled  the  reader  with  no  farther 
discourse  of  pastoral;  but  being  informed  that  I  am  taxed 
of  partiality,  in  not  mentioning  an  author  whose  Eclogues 
are  published  in  the  same  volume  with  Mr.  Philips's;  I 
shall  employ  this  paper  in  observations  upon  him,  written 
in  the  free  spirit  of  criticism,  and  without  any  apprehen- 
sion of  offending  that  gentleman,  whose  character  it  is,  that 
he  takes  the  greatest  care  of  his  works  before  they  are  pub- 
lished, and  has  the  least  concern  for  them  afterwards. 

I  have  laid  it  down  as  the  first  rule  of  Pastoral,  that  its 
ideas  should  be  taken  from  the  manners  of  the  golden  age, 
and  the  moral  formed  upon  the  representation  ol  innocence; 
it  is  therefore  plain  that  any  deviations  from  that  design 
degrade  a  poem  from  being  truly  pastoral.  In  this  view  it 
will  appear  that  Virgil  can  only  have  two  of  his  Eclogues 
allowed  to  be  such :  his  first  and  ninth  must  be  rejected, 
because  they  describe  the  ravages  of  armies,  and  oppressions 
of  the  innocent;  Corydon's  criminal  passion  for  Alexis  throws 
out  the  second;  the  calumny  and  railing  in  the  third  are 
not  proper  to  that  state  of  concord;  the  eighth  represents 
unlawful  ways  of  procuring  love  by  enchantments,  and  in- 
troduces a  shepherd  whom  an  inviting  precipice  tempts  to 
sell-murder:  as  to  the  fourth,  sixth,  and  tenth,  they  are 
given  up  by  Heinsius,  Salmasius,  Rapin,  and  the  critics  in 
general.  They  likewise  observe  that  but  eleven  of  all  the 
Idyllia  of  Theocritus  are  to  be  admitted  as  Pastorals;  and 
even  out  of  that  number  the  greater  part  will  be  excluded 
for  one  or  other  of  the  reasons  above  mentioned.  So  that 
when  I  remarked  in  a  former  paper,  that  Virgil's  Eclogues, 
taken  altogether,  are  rather  select  poems  than  pastorals,  I 
nvght  have  said  the  same  thing,  with  no  less  truth,  of 
Theocritus.  The  reason  of  this  I  taka  to  be  yet  unob- 


476  THE   DUNCIAD. 

served  by  the  critics,  viz.,  they  never  meant  them  all  for 
pastorals. 

Now  it  is  plain  Philips  hath  done  this,  and  in  that  par- 
ticular excelled  both  Theocritus  and  Virgil. 

As  simplicity  is  the  distinguishing  characteristic  of  pas- 
toral, Virgil  hath  been  thought  guilty  of  too  courtly  a  style; 
his  language  is  perfectly  pure,  and  he  often  forgets  he  is  among 
peasants.  I  have  frequently  wondered  that  since  he  was  so 
conversant  in  the  writings  of  Ennius,  he  had  not  imitated  the 
rusticity  of  the  Doric,  as  well  by  the  help  of  the  old  obsolete 
Eoman  language,  as  Philips  hath  by  the  antiquated  English: 
for  example,  might  not  he  have  said  quoi  instead  of  cui, 
quoijum  for  cujum,  volt  for  vult,  fyc.,  as  well  as  our  modern 
hath  welladay  for  alas,  whilome  for  of  old,  make  mode  for 
deride,  and  witless  younglings  for  simple  lambs,  Sfc.,  by 
which  means  he  had  attained  as  much  of  the  air  of  Theocritus, 
as  Phillips  hath  of  Spenser. 

Mr.  Pope  hath  fallen  into  the  same  error  with  Virgil. 
His  downs  do  not  converse  in  all  the  simplicity  proper  to 
the  country;  his  names  are  borrowed  from  Theocritus  and 
Virgil,  which  are  improper  to  the  scene  of  his  pastorals :  he 
introduces  Daphnis,  Alexis,  and  Thyrsis  on  British  plains, 
as  Virgil  hath  done  before  him  on  the  Mantuan.  Whereas 
Philips,  who  hath  the  strictest  regard  to  propriety,  makes 
choice  of  names  peculiar  to  the  country,  and  more  agreeable 
to  a  reader  of  delicacy,  such  as  Hobbinol,  Lobbin,  Cuddy,  and 
Colin-Clout. 

So  easy  as  pastoral  writing  may  seem  (in  the  simplicity  we 
have  described  it),  yet  it  requires  great  reading,  both  of  the 
ancients  and  modems,  to  be  a  master  of  it.  Philips  hath 
given  us  manifest  proofs  of  his  knowledge  of  books.  It  must 
be  confessed  his  competitor  hath  imitated  some  single 
thoughts  of  the  ancients  well  enough  (if  we  consider  he  had 
not  the  happiness  of  an  University  education),  but  he  hath 
dispersed  them,  here  and  there,  without  that  order  and 
method  which  Mr.  Philips  observes,  whose  whole  third 
pastoral  is  an  instance  how  well  he  hath  studied  the  fifth  of 
Virgil,  and  how  judiciously  reduced  Virgil's  thoughts  to  the 
standard  of  pastoral;  as  his  contention  of  Colin-Clout  arid  the 
Nightingale  shows  with  what  exactness  he  hath  imitated  every 
line  in  Strada. 

When  I  remarked  it  as  a  principal  fault  to  introduce  fru'ts 
and  flowers  of  a  foreign  growth,  in  the  descriptions  where  tlio 
scene  lies  in  our  own  country,  I  did  not  design  that  observa- 


THE  DUNCIAD.  477 

tion  should  extend  also  to  animals,  or  the  sensitive  life;  for 
Mr.  Philips  hath  with  great  judgment  described  wolves  in 
England  in  his  first  pastoral.  Nor  would  I  have  a  poet 
slavishly  confine  himself  (as  Mr.  Pope  hath  done)  to  one  par- 
ticular season  of  the  year,  one  certain  time  of  the  day,  and  one 
unbroken  scene  in  each  eclogue.  Tis  plain  Spenser  neglected 
this  pedantry,  who  in  his  pastoral  of  November  mentions  the 
mournful  song  of  the  nightingale : 

Sad  Philomel  htr  tony  in  tear,  doth  steep. 

And  Mr.  Philips,  by  a  poetical  creation,  hath  raised  up  finer 
beds  of  flowers  than  the  most  industrious  gardener;  his 
roses,  endives,  lilies,  king-cups,  and  daffodils,  blow  all  in  the 
same  season. 

But  the  better  to  discover  the  merits  of  our  two  contem- 
porary pastoral  writers,  I  shall  endeavour  to  draw  a  parallel 
of  them,  by  setting  several  of  their  particular  thoughts  in  the 
same  light,  whereby  it  will  be  obvious  how  much  Philips  hath 
the  advantage.  With  what  simplicity  he  introduces  two 
shepherds  singing  alternately ! 

Hobb.  Come,  Rosalind,  O  come,  for  without  thee 

WTiat  pleasure  can  the  country  have  for  me  I 
Come,  Kotalind,  O  come  !  my  brinded  Icine, 
My  tnoiry  iheep,  my  farm,  and  all  are  thine. 

Lanq.    Come,  Rosalind,  O  come ;  here  thady  lower*, 

Here  are  cool  fountain,  and  here  tpringingjloveri, 
Come,  Rosalind;  here  ever  let  us  stay, 
And  sweetly  waits  our  lice-long  time  away. 

Our  other  pastoral  writer,  in  expressing  the  same  thought, 
deviates  into  downright  poetry: 

Streph.  In  tpring  the  field*,  in  autumn  hills  I  love; 
At  morn  the  plaint,  at  noon  the  shady  grove; 
But  Delia  alwayt  ;  forced  from  Delia',  tight, 
Nor  plaint  at  morn,  nor  groves  at  noon  delight. 

Daph.  Sylcia's  like  autumn  ripe,  yet  mild  at  May, 

More  bright  than  noon,  yet  fresh  as  early  day; 
Even  spring  displease!  when  the  shines  not  here; 
Sut  blett  with  her,  'tit  tpring  throughout  the  year. 

In  the  first  of  these  authors,  two  shepherds  thus  innocently 
describe  the  behaviour  of  their  mistresses : 

Hobb.  At  Marian  bathed,  by  chance  I  patted  by, 
She  blush' d,  and  at  me  cast  a  side-long  eye; 
Then  swift  beneath  the  crystal  wave  the  tried 
Htr  beauteous  form,  but  all  in  vain,  to  hid*. 

42 


478  THE    DUNCIAD. 

Lanq.  At  I  to  cool  me,  bathed  one  sultry  day, 
Fond  Lydia  lurking  in  the  sedget  lay  ; 
The  wanton  laugh'd,  and  seem'd  in  haste  to  fly; 
Yet  often  stopp'd,  and  often  turn'd  her  eye. 

The  other  modern  (who,  it  must  be  confessed,  hath  a  knack  of 
versifying)  hath  it  as  follows: 

Streph.  Me  gentle  Delia  beckons  from  the  plain, 

Then,  hid  in  shades,  eludes  her  eager  twain; 
But  feigns  a  laugh,  to  tee  me  search  around, 
And  by  that  laugh  the  willing  fair  it  found. 

Daph.  The  sprightly  Sylvia  trips  along  the  green, 
She  runt,  but  hopes  she  does  not  run  unseen, 
While  a  kind  glance  at  her  pursuer  Jlies, 
Hov>  much  at  variance  are  her  feet  and  eyet ! 

There  is  nothing  the  writers  of  this  kind  of  poetry  are  fonder 
of,  than  descriptions  of  pastoral  presents.  Philips  says  thus 
of  a  sheep-hook : 

Ofseason'd  elm,  where  studs  of  brass  appear, 
To  ipeak  the  giver's  name,  the  month,  and  years 
The  hook  of  polish'  d  steel,  the  handle  turn'd, 
And  richly  by  the  graver's  skill  adorn' d. 

The  other  of  a  bowl  embossed  with  figures : 

where  wanton  ivy  twines, 

And  swelling  clusters  bend  the  curling  vinei; 
Four  figures  rising  from  the  work  appear. 
The  various  seasons  of  the  rolling  year; 
And  what  is  that  which  binds  the  radiant  sky, 
Where  twelve  bright  signs  in  beauteous  order  lie  t 

The  simplicity  of  the  swain  in  this  place,  who  forgets  the  name 
of  the  zodiac,  is  no  ill  imitation  of  Virgil:  but  how  much 
more  plainly  and  unaffectedly  would  Philips  have  dressed  this 
thought  hi  his  Doric : 

And  what  that  hight  which  girds  the  welkin  sheen, 
Where  twelve  gay  signs  in  meet  array  are  seen  1 

If  the  reader  would  indulge  his  curiosity  any  farther  in 
the  comparison  of  particulars,  he  may  read  the  first  Pastoral 
of  Philips  with  the  second  of  his  contemporary;  and  the 
fourth  and  sixth  of  the  former  with  the  fourth  and  first  of 
the  latter;  where  several  parallel  places  will  occur  to  every 
one. 

Having  now  shown  some  parts  in  which  these  two  writers 
may  be  compared,  it  is  a  justice  I  owe  to  Mr.  Philips,  to 
discover  those  in  which  no  man  can  compare  with  him.  First, 


THE  DUNCIAD.  479 

that  beautiful  rusticity,  of  which  I  shall  only  produce  two 
instances  of  an  hundred  not  yet  quoted: 

O  woeful  day  !  O  day  of  woe  !  quoth  he; 
And  woeful  I,  who  lice  the  day  to  see  ! 

The  simplicity  of  the  diction,  the  melancholy  flowing  of  the 
numbers,  the  solemnity  of  the  sound,  and  the  easy  turn  of  the 
words  in  this  dirge  (to  make  use  of  our  author's  expression), 
are  extremely  elegant. 

In  another  of  his  Pastorals,  a  shepherd  utters  a  dirge  not 
much  inierior  to  the  former,  in  the  following  lines: 

Ahme,th<;  while  !  ok  me  !  the  luckiest  day  I 
Ah  luckless  lad  !  the  rather  might  I  say  ! 
Ah  silly  I!  more  silly  than  my  sheep, 
Which  on  the  flowery  plain  I  once  did  keep. 

How  he  still  charms  the  ear  with  these  artful  repetitions  of 
the  epithets  ;  and  how  significant  is  the  last  verse  !  I  defy 
the  most  common  reader  to  repeat  them  without  feeling  some 
motions  of  compassion. 

In  the  next  place  I  shall  rank  his  Proverbs,  in  which  I 
formerly  observed  he  excels.  For  example: 

A  rotting  stone  is  ever  bare  of  most; 

And,  to  their  cost,  green  years  old  proverbs  crott. 

—  He  that  late  lies  down,  at  late  will  rite. 
And  sluggard-like,  till  noon-day  snoring  lies. 

—  Against  til  luck  all  cunning  foresight  failt; 
Whether  we  sleep  or  wake,  it  nought  avail*. 

—  Nor  fear,  from  upright  sentence,  wrong. 

Lastly,  his  elegant  dialect,  which  alone  might  prove  him 
the  eldest  born  of  Spenser,  and  our  only  true  Arcadian.  I 
should  think  it  proper  for  the  several  writers  of  Pastoral 
to  confine  themselves  to  their  several  counties.  Spenser 
seems  to  have  been  of  this  opinion;  for  he  hath  laid  the 
scene  of  one  of  his  Pastorals  in  Wales ;  where,  with  all  the 
simplicity  natural  to  that  part  of  our  island,  one  shepherd 
bids  the  other  good-morrow,  in  an  unusual  and  elegant 
manner: 

Diggon  Davy,  Ibidhur  God-day; 

Or  Diggon  hur  it,  or  I  mis-say. 

Diggon  answers, 

Hur  was  hur  while  it  wot  day-light; 
Hut  now  hur  it  a  most  wretched  wight,  fa 


480  THE   DUNCIAD. 

But  the  most  beautiful  example  of  this  kind  that  I  ever 
met  with,  is  in  a  very  valuable  piece  which  I  chanced 
to  find  among  some  old  manuscripts,  entitled  a  Pastoral 
Ballad:  which  I  think,  for  its  nature  and  simplicity,  may 
(notwithstanding  the  modesty  of  the  title)  be  allowed  a 
perfect  Pastoral.  It  is  composed  in  the  Somersetshire 
dialect,  and  the  names  such  as  are  proper  to  the  country 
people.  It  may  be  observed,  as  a  farther  beauty  of  this 
Pastoral,  the  words  Nymph,  Dryad,  Xoiad,  Fawn,  Cupid,  or 
Satyr,  are  not  once  mentioned  throughout  the  whole.  I  shall 
make  no  apology  for  inserting  some  few  lines  of  this  excellent 
piece.  Cicily  breaks  thus  into  the  subject  as  she  is  going  a 
milking: 

Cicily.  Roger,  go  vetch  (ha  Jcee,  or  else  tha  zun 

Will  quite  be  go,  bevore  c'kave  half  a  don. 
Roger.  Thou  shouldst  not  ax  ma  tweece,  but  I've  a  bet 
To  dreave  our  lull  to  lull  tha  parson' a  kee. 

It  is  to  be  observed,  that  this  whole  dialogue  is  formed  upon 
the  passion  of  jealousy;  and  his  mentioning  the  parson's  kine 
naturally  revives  the  jealousy  of  the  shepherdess  Cicily,  which 
she  expresses  as  follows: 

Cicily.  Ah  Rager,  'Roger  !  ches.was  zore  avraid 

When  in  yon  vield  you  Jciss'd  the  parson's  maid; 

Is  this  the  love  that  once  to  me  you  zed, 

When  from  the  wake  thou  Iroughfst  me  ginger-bread  I 

Boger.  Cicily  thou  charg'st  me  valse, — I'll  zwear  to  thee 
The  parson's  maid  is  still  a  maid  for  me. 

In  which  answer  of  his  are  expressed  at  once  that  spirit  of 
Eeligion,  and  that  Innocence  of  the  golden  age,  so  necessary 
to  be  observed  by  all  writers  of  Pastoral. 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  piece,  the  author  reconciles 
the  lovers,  and  ends  the  eclogue  the  most  simply  in  the 
world: 

So  Roger  parted  vor  to  vetch  tha  kee, 
And  vor  her  bucket  in  wait  Cicily. 

I  am  loth  to  show  my  fondness  for  antiquity  so  far  as  to  prefer 
this  ancient  British  author  to  our  present  English  writers  of 
Pastoral;  but  I  cannot  avoid  making  this  obvious  remark, 
that  Philips  hath  hit  into  the  same  road  with  this  old  west 
country  bard  of  ours. 

After  all  that  hath  been  said,  I  hope  none  can  think  it 


THE  DUNCIAD.  481 

any  injustice  to  Mr.  Pope,  that  I  forbore  to  mention  him 
as  a  Pastoral  writer ;  since,  upon  the  whole,  he  is  of  the 
same  class  with  Moschus  and  Bion,  whom  we  have  excluded 
that  rank ;  and  of  whose  eclogues,  as  well  as  some  of  Vir- 
gil's, it  n\ay  be  said,  that  (according  to  the  description  we 
have  given  of  this  sort  of  poetry)  they  are  by  no  means 
Pastorals,  but  something  better. 


OF  THE  POET  LAUREATE. 
November  19,  1729. 

THE  time  of  the  election  of  a  Poet  Laureate  being  now 
at  hand,  it  may  be  proper  to  give  some  account  of  the  rites 
and  ceremonies  anciently  used  at  that  solemnity,  and  only 
discontinued  through  the  neglect  and  degeneracy  of  later 
times.  These  we  have  extracted  from  an  historian  of  un- 
doubted credit,  a  reverend  bishop,  the  learned  Paulus 
Jovius ;  and  are  the  same  that  were  practised  under  the 
pontificate  of  Leo  X.,  the  great  restorer  of  learning. 

As  we  now  see  an  age  and  a  court,  that  for  the  encourage- 
ment of  poetry  rivals,  if  not  exceeds,  that  of  this  famous 
Pope,  we  cannot  but  wish  a  restoration  of  all  its  honours  to 
poesy;  the  rather,  since  there  are  so  many  parallel  circum- 
stances in  the  person  who  was  then  honoured  with  the 
laurel,  and  in  nim,  who  (in  all  probability)  is  now  to 
wear  it. 

I  shall  translate  my  author  exactly  as  I  find  it  in  the 
82nd  chapter  of  his  Elogia  Vir.  Doct.  He  begins  with  the 
character  of  the  poet  himself,  who  was  the  original  and 
father  of  all  Laureates,  and  called  Camillo.  He  was  a  plain 
country-man  of  Apulia,  whether  a  shepherd  or  thresher,  is  not 
material.  "  This  man  (says  Jovius),  excited  by  the  fame  of 
the  great  encouragement  given  to  poets  at  court,  and  the 
high  honour  in  which  they  were  held,  came  to  the  city, 
bringing  with  him  a  strange  kind  of  lyre  in  his  hand,  and 
at  least  some  twenty  thousand  of  verses.  All  the  wits  and 
critics  of  the  court  flocked  about  him,  delighted  to  see  a 
down.)  with  a  ruddy,  hale  complexion3  and  in  his  own  long 
42* 


482  THE  DUNCIAD. 

hair,  so  top  full  of  poetry ;  and  at  the  first  si<?ht  of  him  all 
agreed  he  was  born  to  be  Poet  Laureate.  He  had  a  most 
hearty  welcome  in  an  island  oi  the  river  Tiber  (an  agreeable 
place,  not  unlike  our  Richmond),  where  he  was  first  made 
to  eat  and  drink  plentifully,  and  to  repeat  his  verses  to  every- 
body. Then  they  adorned  him  with  a  new  and  elegant 
garland,  composed  of  vine-t,eaves,  laurel,  and  brassica  (a 
sort  of  cabbage),  so  composed,  says  my  author,  emblema- 
tically, ut  tarn  sales,  quam  lepida  ejus  temulentia,  Brassicce 
remedio  co/iibenda,  notaretur.  He  was  then  saluted  by 
common  consent  with  the  title  of  archi-poeta,  or  arch-poet, 
in  the  style  of  those  days,  in  ours  Poet  Laureate.  This 
honour  the  poor  man  received  with  the  most  sensible  de- 
monstrations of  joy,  his  eyes  drunk  with  tears  and  glad- 
ness. Next  the  public  acclamation  was  "expressed  in  a 
canticle,  which  is  transmitted  to  us,  as  follows- 

Salre,  brassicea  virens  corona, 

Et  lauro,  urchiporta,  ptimpinoque! 

Dignus  principi*  auribus  Leonit. 

All  hail,  anh-poet  without  peer! 
Vine,  bay,  or  cabbage  fit  to  wear, 
And  worthy  of  the  prince's  car. 

From  hence  he  was  conducted  in  pomp  to  the  capitol  of 
Rome,  mounted  on  an  elephant,  through  the  shouts  of  the 
populace,  where  the  ceremony  ended. 

The  historian  tells  us  larther,  "  That  at  his  introduction 
to  Leo,  he  not  only  poured  forth  verses  innumerable,  like 
a  torrent,  but  also  sung  them  with  open  mouth.  Nor  was 
he  only  once  introduced,  or  on  stated  days  (like  our 
Laureates),  but  made  a  companion  to.  his  master,  and  enter- 
tained as  one  ot  the  instruments  of  his  most  elegant 
pleasures.  When  the  prince  was  at  table,  the  poet  had  his 
place  at  the  window.  When  the  prince  had  half  eaten  his 
meat,  he  gave  with  his  own  hands  the  rest  to  the  poet. 
When  the  poet  drank,  it  was  out  of  the  prince's  own 
flagon,  insomuch  (says  the  historian)  that  through  so 
great  good  eating  and  drinking  he  contracted  a  most 
terriMe  gout."  Sorry  I  am  to  relate  what  follows,  but  that 
I  cannot  leave  my  reader's  curiosity  unsatisfied  in  the 
catastrophe  of  this  extraordinary  man.  To  use  my  author's 
words,  which  are  remarkable,  mortuo  Leone,  projUyatisguc 
poetis,  &c.  "  When  Leo  died,  and  poets  were  no  more" 


THE   DUNCIAD.  483 

(for  I  -would  not  understand  profiigatis  literally,  as  if  poets 
then  were  profligate)^ this  unhappy  Laureate  was  forthwith 
reduced  to  return  to  his  country,  where,  oppressed  with 
and  want,  he  miserably  perished  in  a  common 
hospital. 

We  see  from  this  sad  conclusion  (which  may  be  of 
example  to  the  poets  of  our  time)  that  it  were  happier  to 
meet  with  no  encouragement  at  all,  to  remain  at  the  plough, 
or  other  lawful  occupation,  than  to  be  elevated  above  their 
condition,  and  taken  out  of  the  common  means  of  life, 
without  a  surer  support  than  the  temporary,  or,  at  best, 
mortal  favours  of  the  great.  It  was  doubtless  for  this  con- 
sideration, that  when  the  Royal  Bounty  was  lately  extended 
to  a  rural  genius,  ca"re  was  taken  to  settle  it  upon  him  for 
life.  And  it  hath  been  the  practice  ot  our  Princes,  never 
to  remove  from  the  station  of  Poet  Laureate  any  man  who 
hath  once  been  chosen,  though  never  so  much  greater 
geniuses  might  arise  in  his  time.  A  noble  instance,  how 
much  the  charity  of  our  monarchs  hath  exceeded  their  love 
of  fame. 

To  come  now  to  the  intent  of  this  paper.  "We  have  here 
the  whole  ancient  ceremonial  of  the  Laureate.  In  the  first 
place  the  crown  is  to  be  mixed  with  vineJeCtvet,*^  the  vine  is 
the  plant  of  Bacchus,  and  full  as  essential  to  the  honour, 
as  the  butt  of  sack  to  the  salary. 

Secondly,  the  brassica  must  be  made  use  of  as  a  qualifier 
of  the  former.  It  seems  the  cabbage  was  anciently  accounted 
a  remedy  for  drunkenness;  a  power  the  French  now  ascribe 
to  the  onion,  and  style  a  soup  made  of  it,  soupe  d'yvrogne. 
I  would  recommend  a  large  mixture  of  the  brassica  if  Mr. 
Dennis  be  chosen ;  but  if  Mr.  Tibbald,  it  is  not  so  necessary, 
unless  the  cabbage  be  supposed  to  signify  the  same  thing 
with  respect  to  poets  as  to  tailors,  viz.  stealing.  I  should 
judge  it  not  amiss  to  add  another  plant  to  this  garland,  to 
wit,  ivy:  not  only  as  it  anciently  belonged  to  poets  in 
general,  but  as  it  is  emblematical  of  the  three  virtues  of  a 
court  poet  in  particular;  it  is  creeping,  dirty,  and 
dangling 

In  the  next  place,  a  canticle  must  be  composed  and  sung 
in  laud  and  praise  of  the  new  poet.  If  Air  CIBBER  be 
laureated,  it  is  my  opinion  no  man  can  write  this  but  him- 
self: and  no  man,  I  am  sure,  can  sing  it  so  affectiugly.  But 
what  this  canticle  should  be,  either  in  his  or  the  other  can- 
didate's case,  I  shall  not  pretend  to  determine. 


484  THE    DUNCIAD. 

Thirdly,  there  ought  to  be  a  public^  show,  or  entry  of  the 
poet.  To  settle  the  order  or  procession  of  which,  Mr. 
Anstis  and  Mr.  DENNIS  ought  to  have  a  conference.  I 
apprehend  here  two  difficulties:  one,  of  procuring  an 
elephant,  the  other  .of  teaching  the  poet  to  ride  him :  there- 
fore I  should  imagine  the  next  animal  in  size  or  dignity 
would  do  best ;  either  a  mule  or  a  large  ass;  particularly  if 
that  noble  one  could  be  had,  whose  portraiture  makes  so 
great  an  ornament  of  the  Dunciad,  and  which  (unless  I  am 
misinformed)  is  yet  in  the  park  of  a  nobleman  near  this  city : 

Unless  Mr.  GIBBER  be  the  man,  who  may,  with  great 

propriety  and  beauty,  ride  on  a  dragon,  if  he  goes  by  land ; 
or  if  he  chuse  the  water,  upon  one  of  his  own  swans  from 
Caesar  in  Egypt. 

We  have  spoken  sufficiently  of  the  ceremony;  let  us  now 
speak  of  the  qualifications  and  privileges  of  the  Laureate. 
First,  we  see  he  must  be  able  to  make  verses  extempore, 
and  to  pour  forth  innumerable,  if  required.  In  this  I  doubt 
Mr.  TIBBALD.  Secondly,  he  ought  to  sing,  and  intrepidly, 
patulo  ore :  here,  I  confess  the  excellency  of  Mr.  GIBBER. 
Thirdly,  he  ought  to  carry  a  lyre  about  with  him :  it  a  large 
one  be  thought  too  cumbersome,  a  small  one  may  be  con- 
trived to  hang  about  the  neck,  like  an  order,  and  be  very 
much  a  grace  to  the  person.  Fourthly,  he  ought  to  have 
a  good  stomach,  to  eat  and  drink  whatever  his  betters  think 
fit ;  and  therefore  it  is  in  this  high  office  as  in  many  others, 
no  puny  constitution  can  discharge  it.  I  do  not  think 
GIBBER  or  TIBBALD  here  so  happy :  but  rather  a  stanch, 
vigorous,  seasoned,  and  dry  old  gentleman,  whom  I  have  in 
my  eye. 

I  could  also  wish  at  this  juncture,  such  a  person  as  is 
truly  jealous  of  the  honour  and  dignity  of  poetry;  no  joker, 
or  trifler,  but  a  bard  in  good  earnest;  nay,  not  amiss  if  a 
critic,  and  the  better  if  a  little  obstinate.  For  when  we 
consider  what  great  privileges  have  been  lost  from  this 
office  (as  we  see  from  the  forecited  authentic  record  of 
Jovius),  namely,  those  of  feeding  from  the  prince's  table, 
drinking  out  of  his  own  flagon,  becoming  even  his  domestic 
and  companion;  it  requires  a  man  warm  and  resolute  to 
be  able  to  claim  and  obtain  the  restoring  of  these  high 
honours.  I  have  cause  to  fear  the  most  of  the  candidates 
would  be  liable,  either  through  the  influence  of  ministers, 
or  for  rewards  or  favours,  to  give  up  the  glorious  rights  of 
the  Laureate :  yet  I  am  not  without  hopes,  there  is  one, 


THE  DUNCIAD.  485 

from  whom  a  serious  and  steady  assertion  of  these  privileges 
may  be  expected ;  and,  if  there  be  such  a  one,  I  must  do 
him  the  justice  to  say,  it  is  Mr.  DENNIS,  the  worthy  pre- 
sident of  our  society. 


vn. 
ADVERTISEMENT. 

PRINTED   IN  THE  JOURNALS,  1730. 

WHEREAS,  upon  occasion  of  certain  pieces  relating  to  the 
gentlemen  of  the  Dunciad,  some  have  been  willing  to 
suggest,  as  if  they  looked  upon  them  as  an  abuse :  we  can 
do  no  less  than  own,  it  is  our  opinio^  that  to  call  these 


Te  cannot  alter  this  opinion  without  some  reason ;  but  we 
promise  to  do  it  in  respect  to  every  person  who  thinks  it 
an  injury  to  be  represented  as  no  wit,  or  poet,  provided  he 
procures  a  certificate  of  his  being  really  such,  from  any 
three  of  his  companions  in  the  Dunciad,  or  from  Mr.  Dennis 
singly,  who  is  esteemed  equal  to  any  three  of  the  number. 


A     000  025  050 


